


Old Strangers

by geassevoker (orphan_account)



Series: returning to the place i call home [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Reaper centric, Redemption, Slow Burn, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/geassevoker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Reaper sees Soldier: 76, he only wants to kill the man. Meeting a dead man and all that entails with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First time for everything.

The first time Reaper sees Soldier: 76, he only wants to kill the man. He’s gone too far, invading in Overwatch intel and uncovering information that he shouldn’t know. The mere thought whispers in his ear, curls around the back of his skull. _Reap. Reap. Reap._ It runs through the marrow of his bone. The urge pushes him to the extent of his abilities because _mierda_ , the man has gone so far as to desecrate a dead man’s grave.

Reaper likes to believe that his humanity burned in the explosion. It’s a lot easier to convince yourself that when you eat human souls for a living. However, this man has literally dug up a history that should have been buried away under mounds of dirt never to see the light again. Talon doesn’t need to send him on this Soldier’s tail, for Reaper has already made him a priority to contend with.

It aligns with his goals after all. Hunt down any remaining Overwatch agents and extract as much information as he can before he eliminates them and nourishing himself with their souls.

However, this _cabrón_ is testing the dwindling amount of patience he has left. Talon leaders are getting impatient, demanding an end to this nuisance before he destroys any more of their property. They offer Reaper an exorbitant amount of money to make his elimination a top priority.

He takes it not for the large sum of money, though it certainly helps. Ever since his inception as a mercenary, Reaper desires a challenge. Former Overwatch members tend to have some fight in them, sure. However, the ones he has been going after are old, unable to defend themselves in a surprise attack.

If Reaper is right and Soldier really used to be a member, then he could grill him for information. Maybe after they both fight each other to the brink of death. Of course, their first meeting is anything but ideal. In the middle of fucking nowhere. This whole situation is beyond what Reaper is used to.

The context? There really isn’t one. Reaper wishes the circumstances were better. A hunt for another old member – Luke Gutierrez, a decorated officer who Reaper remembered was a big kiss ass – and a successful round of interrogation.

_A lone light hovers over the occupant in the chair, casting shadows across haggard features. The man screams as the flecks of shadow clip against his skin and leaves behind thin trails of blood. He sputters, sobs for mercy._

_Reaper stays in his wraith form, but lets a hand become solid and grabs him by the neck, putting pressure onto his windpipe. He wheezes, barely able to gasp for air as Reaper speaks._

_“You have something I want,” he hisses._

_“F-fuck, I don’t—“_

_Reaper reaches down and bends his left index finger back, enjoying the way the bone cracks and the man screams. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”_

_He waits a moment longer, lets him heave in panic before becoming solid again. He slithers closer to the shell of his ear._

_“Overwatch and Blackwatch fell to corruption,” he starts calmly as a claw traces one of his fingers. “Decir_ _la verdad y viverás.”_

_He doesn’t need to finish the threat, for the man already blabbers. Such loose lips. He tells him everything he knows about his time in Overwatch. But that isn’t exactly the information he’s looking for._

_It’s Blackwatch he wants to know about this time._

_“The Blackwatch leaks–“ Reaper slams the shotgun down onto his finger and the scum screams “— shouldn't have happened. Not unless one of our own were already on someone else's payroll. If you value your life, you'll tell me if I'm wrong in suspecting you as the little worm.”_

_“P-please, I don’t-“_

_Reaper yanks his hair back to open his mouth and grabs his tongue. “Unless the next words out of your mouth is information I want to hear, I will rip out your tongue and let you bleed to death.”_

_The man stills, eyes wide as he slowly nods._

The spies had higher positions than he thought. He knew that every organization in the world has had corrupted agents within their ranks. He just didn’t know how far it went, how deep the roots ran into Overwatch. According to the little snake, Talon had paid him a hefty sum for the leaks and the sabotage. He needed it for his kids and fuck, the money was worth more to him than the integrity of an organization that saved his fucking life. It seems that even back then, Talon has had its claws in every world organization and there was no way to stop them from gaining a foothold in every nation. Reaper chews on that thought, wondering how Morrison would take that.

Reaper tries not to let his past come back, but the _gringo_ always had a way of clinging onto him in the worst of ways. His imagination drifts to his reaction at the news, at the way his lips would pull into a frown and brows furrow. He imagines either an outcry at the news and how Overwatch has saved the world multiple times or dejection at the idea of mercenaries in the organization ready to have it all implode onto itself.

He doesn’t like where the train of thought goes, so he shuts it down.

Reaper didn’t let the man live though. A loose end would kill someone in the long run, especially the way he let all that information slip through so willingly. There’s a part of Reaper that thinks the act as an act of mercy. After all, no self-respecting agency would let such a disgusting rat in their ranks.

It’s after the high of drinking in his soul that Soldier rears his stupid face in. Reaper clears past the warehouse he used for the interrogation and dips into the entrance of an alleyway when a spray of bullets hit his back. He crumbles, falls to the ground at the force. It only takes a second and a half of roaring in anger before he slips into a wraith. The bullets in his back weigh on him though, the cold metal biting into his senses.

He narrowly dodges the helix rockets aimed at where he switched forms.

Reaper doesn’t have time to deal with a self-righteous vigilante, especially when he has information he needs to act on now. He’s too close to let this opportunity slip by him. Reaper wants to kill this man for interfering, but then something in the way he moves captures his interest.

Unlike other idiot vigilantes, Soldier darts from cover with practiced ease. He weaves into the shadows almost as seamlessly as Reaper does and Reaper takes notice. He carries his pulse rifle with ease, runs while avoiding any sight lines that Reaper would have easily taken him down with his shotguns. He reloads as he runs, replacing the ammunition and rockets as he makes his way closer.

The whole shtick screams military training and Reaper’s interest piques even more.

However, he doesn’t have the time to play with this new bit of information. Quickly, he makes himself solid and dons his shotguns from the shadows of his coat. As efficiently as the other man with his weapon, Reaper starts spraying bullets at the man. Of course, it misses. That isn’t the surprise, as there’s a considerable distance between them. However, it slows down the other man, who’s forced to hide behind shoddy boxes that’s already giving way.

Reaper frowns behind the mask and slowly walks back. As soon as there is enough distance between the two, he fades back into dust and specks, staying low and ignoring the way Soldier curses in frustration.

The first time is never ideal, but it leaves an impression. He gains information that he would never have otherwise.

The second time though, that’s premeditated.

It’s a simple mission Talon gives him. It’s almost so easy that Reaper turns down the request from the messenger. In fact, he remembers the other guy sweating bullets as he stared down the barrel of his gun. Then he drops an enticing string of words.

“Soldier:76 is expected to show up to stop the weapon trade. Talon doesn’t need to remind you that they’ve asked you before.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he takes the report from his hands. Dorado, where Los Muertos have staked a claim on a harbor in the small town. Soldier:76 has already intervened previously, stopping weapon shipments on route and shutting down facilities across the nation. Reaper notes the weapons trading and human trafficking taking part there and how Talon wants this resolved quickly so that they can regain some control. There should be disgust at the crimes here, but Reaper could care less about what goes on there.

All that matters is who is going to be there.

No matter how threatening Soldier: 76 is to the world, even the vigilante finds a way to try and fix the wrongs in this world. Reaper finds this whole situation…familiar, for lack of a better word. There’s a wisp of a memory on the edge of his mind. Of a blonde man with a frown dead set on his face as he points at a picture of a bloody child and yells that she deserved better than dying at the hands of some depraved fuck.

Reaper smothers the formless thought and quickly makes his way to his destination.

When he arrives, it’s in the dead of night and the town is eerily abandoned. Though there are stray lights flickering about around him, even he notices the lack of any sort of life. There are no strays wandering about, no adults milling around the bars. There is only the sound of water and foghorns in the distance.

He hums to nothing in particular and heads for the safe house that he used a long time ago for Blackwatch operations. The place sits on the edge of the town, a way from any of the population. Talon always provides their own hideouts for him, but he finds the possibility of having his privacy invaded too big a risk to take. And besides, he hasn’t come back here since the fall. A part of him wonders at what’s been left behind.

When he arrives, he twists the doorknob and it creaks a low whine as he opens the door. He finds that the place is caked in dust. He takes it as a good sign, one that means no one has been here in years. Though it looks a mess, the small space is empty with nothing but basic living amenities. The sheets on the bed are a dingy brown, patches and holes at the edges that touch the floor. There are no rodents or bugs and he takes that as a blessing of sorts. The floorboards creak with age and plumes of dust rise from the crevices with each step he takes. There’s a lingering sense of sentiment in his mind, one that nags at him to explore the remnants of a dead man and what he’s left behind since his untimely demise. Reaper ignores the wistful musings of his humanity and buries it deep down as he sets up base.

It isn’t like he’ll be here for long.

He doesn’t stay in the little hide away for long periods of time. Too dangerous to get lost again. Too close to regaining Gabriel Reyes back and he doesn’t want that. He takes to stalking the harbor for two days, keeping track of possible entrances and escape routes. He notes any important leaders that directs the men as well as the times of guard shifts and when they rotate. Overall, the operation is a standard gang operation, trying their damnedest to keep the wheel turning. Reaper falls back, mentally counting down the days that he can leave this wretchedly boring place.

The day couldn’t come any sooner. The site of this particular exchange is at the docks, tucked away in a corner where the sole entrance is monitored by at least four guards. Though with Reaper’s abilities, it makes sneaking in significantly easier. He’s always preferred stealth, prefers the way a whole situation can change depending on who has the element of surprise. He stows himself away at a high point, where he has quite the view over this particular trade off. He sees about fifteen men beside one of the leaders holding briefcases and boxes and about the same amount of Talon associates arriving by boat.

The meeting is another dull experience, one that makes Reaper think of killing the messenger for sending him as an escort for their stupid trafficking. He mentally ticks down eighteen minutes in his head – spent gripping his guns and glaring at Talon from a distance – when there’s a small clatter from the entrance where Reaper snuck in. His honed intuition piques at the noise, hoping that it is who he thinks it is.

Soldier does not disappoint.

Shots ring out from the entrance and Reaper doesn’t move from his hiding spot. Merely assesses the situation before him: Soldier has decided to forego any form of stealth and lets loose a barrage of bullets. His aim is uncanny, hitting its mark almost every time he pulls the trigger. He sprints past the bodies at the door, goes for the large shipping containers for cover.

This idiot was going to get himself killed. Even an internationally wanted criminal should know not to just go in with guns blazing and hoping for the best. He wonders who trained the vigilante in the army because he’s pretty fucking sure that his instructor would balk at the lack of self-preservation and the hardheaded stupidity he’s witnessing now. Soldier is pinned down, kneeling and hugging the wall as the remaining twenty or so men shoot away.

Then there is a loud screech and Reaper stands just a little straighter at the unexpected sound. In the two seconds of confusion, Soldier takes advantage of it. He comes out of his hiding spot and the mask projects a screen.

Los Muertos members spread everywhere, trying to recollect everything they can get their hands on. Soldier doesn’t hesitate, lets the visor guide his shots as more bodies fall. Soldier digs through a pocket for ammunition and that’s when Reaper sees his opportunity. He comes down from his hiding spot and takes one, two steps before he shoots.

It seems the old man hears him even through the sound of his pulse rifle firing as he swiftly ducks. The shot misses, but the spray of bullets is enough to make Soldier hiss, a sign that something hit. Reaper keeps firing (not caring if the few standing gang members get caught in the crossfire; they’re expendable and all that matters is the target) and now Soldier runs for cover.

Reaper snarls as he takes shelter behind a fallen crate, dropping his weapons and pulling another pair of shotguns out.

“Didn’t think I’d get to meet Talon’s mercenary today,” Soldier yells behind his cover in a dry tone. “What a great day.” His voice conveys the sheer lack of enthusiasm he feels at the news and Reaper tries his hardest not to roll his eyes at the easy banter.

“Guess your old age is getting to you.” He peers from the side of the crate, trying to pinpoint if Soldier has moved from his location or not.

A bullet whizzes past his mask’s beak. “Old man or not, I’m still kicking your ass and then getting to these young punks.”

For a moment, Reaper dips back into his cover and is surprised by the small grin that graces his features. It’s been a while since any of his targets have actually talked back to him even knowing who he is. It’s also been a while since he’s had a decent firefight. He knows that Soldier won’t pull his punches, but he doesn’t know how to regard that smart mouth of his.

It reminds him too much of a past long gone and that is enough for the smile to morph into its usual sinister look, even if the other man can’t even see it.

Reaper mists over to where the bullet came from, staying as silent as possible. A clip of bullets rings out and more thuds drop to the floor. It seems Soldier intends on cleaning house tonight, regardless if Reaper intervenes or not. Though he should care whether or not this operation should succeed, Reaper finds himself more focused on whether Soldier can put his money where his mouth is. Whether the internationally wanted vigilante can take down the internationally wanted mercenary.

Reaper thinks it’s slightly petty, but soon finds himself forcefully brought back to reality when Soldier blind fires in his general direction. Good instincts, though maybe the stupid mask he’s wearing also gives him more info about his surroundings than Reaper is aware of. He breathes out a clump of smog as he strides closer to Soldier.

“What’s wrong?” Reaper bangs on a crate with his foot. A stupid move, but one tactic used more for fear and intimidation than any smart play. “For someone who threatened to kick my ass, you’re out there scurrying like a little mouse. Too scared to fight me?”

There’s footsteps just to his right and Reaper rears his shotguns and fires. The pellets dig into the concrete, but it doesn’t hit their target. He walks forward, watching his surroundings for any signs of movement. Another clatter about ten feet away from him on his right and Reaper realizes that he’s being drawn into an open area with no cover if his memory serves right.

Two can play at that game.

“Luring me out like a little rat isn’t going to work,” Reaper keeps walking anyways. “I’m not like these idiots here.”

“You talk a lot for a world renowned mercenary – “ And Soldier sounds a lot more closer than Reaper realizes – “which I guess just means you’re either as crazy as they say or you’re lonely.”

“You’re one to talk.” Reaper can’t help the creeping tone of annoyance in his words as he rounds the corner to see the open plaza he expected.

He doesn’t know what has loosened his tongue, but Reaper has a thought that maybe it’s his fucking old age creeping up on him. After all, this whole conversation reeks of a banter he’s had before. Then there is a streak of blue and white and Reaper gives chase in his wraith form. Bullets clip through the smoke and Reaper smirks as he now sees Soldier on the other side with his rifle firing, but hitting nothing. Soldier swears as he sprints away, but Reaper won’t have it. He slips back into a solid form and lets loose a barrage of shots that stop Soldier from running away.

Only now there’s a spiral of rockets heading toward Reaper and he only has a split second to dodge it. He throws his whole body to the left and in an instant, he knows he’s just fallen for his trap.

Soldier takes a stance and starts unloading the whole clip into Reaper. This time, the bullets hit their target and sheds through his ashen flesh. Reaper grunts in surprise as pain explodes under his flesh. The cells in his body feel like they’re on fire from the way his body is trying to regenerate. He grits his teeth and ignores the way his body screams at him to rush at the man.

Just as he hears the _click_ of an empty cartridge, Reaper goes in and knocks the other man’s rifle out of his hands. Soldier stumbles for a moment and Reaper sees his opportunity. Reaper growls as he drops his gun and slams a punch into Soldier’s chest. The impact makes Soldier drop to the gravel in pain. Reaper sees his opportunity and climbs on top of the man, continuing his pummeling,

He makes a point to drive his sharpened claws into the skin, reveling in the grunt of pain as it digs into his flesh. However, Soldier raises his knee into his stomach and the sheer force is enough for Reaper to let go and snarl as he steps back. Soldier bounces back onto his feet and tackles him to the ground. It’s reversed now, with Reaper putting up his arms and Soldier throwing the punches.

He's pinned down under the man and Reaper is now the one holding up defensively. He tries to throw the weight off of him, but Soldier holds steadfastly and keeps going. He finally gets the upper hand when Reaper sees a growing stain of red on the side of his leather jacket. Reaper drops his arm, takes a punch to his mask as he strikes for his side. Soldier rolls over, groaning at the sheer pain that must have come from the jab. Before Soldier can move again, Reaper reaches for one of his discarded shotguns and smashes the handle end into his face. The man goes unconscious and unmoving.

He takes a heavy shuddering breath, aware of the way his whole body aches at the intake of air. There’s holes tattering his coat and blood seeping out of the wounds on his body, but it all pales in comparison to the triumph that blooms in his chest as he realizes he could finally put an end to this fool.

Reaper bends down and reaches for Soldier’s face. He claws off the mask, ready to see the face of the man who’s been a major pain in his ass for close to a year. Talons scratch at the flesh, leaving behind thin cuts across what looks like sagging flesh. He crushes the visor. No need for this idiot to see when death hovers over him. Reaper looks down –

No. _No._

Time slows. Red flecks of plastic glitter in the dim light as it rains over Jack Morrison’s unconscious face.

He’s older now. A scarred body to match the years of vigilante work that treads the line of criminal activity. Age has caught up to Morrison, what with the wrinkles and the snow-white hair. Reaper wishes that of all the people it had to be under the mask, it wasn’t a ghost from his past.

Reaper raises Hellfire to the man’s head, finger pressed against the trigger. It’d be so easy, wouldn’t it? Eliminating a ghost with his own hands, making sure that he’d never have to deal with this pest ruining his long term plans of piecing together who destroyed Overwatch.

Morrison moans in pain, grimacing as he tries to grip his abdomen, and Reaper finds himself unable to do it. It has nothing to do with the fact that Reaper stands over him, eyes wide in surprise at the sound. He takes a step back – one, two – and then watch him for any other sudden noises or movement.

What is he doing? The hesitation sets in his bones, renders him incapable of movement. Because holy fuck, Reaper thought he’d move past this.

Before he realizes it, Reaper stoops down to pick up the body on the floor. Gloved hands can feel the slick of blood on his hands and silently, he starts to feel himself fret over the body in his hands. The strength of his emotions washes over him in its intensity and Reaper hates the way his skin crawls. No matter what, Morrison always finds a way back to him, ready to haunt him any way imaginable.

He huddles the warm body close to him and Reaper starts moving, sprinting down empty alleyways. He can’t let him go again. Reaper feels the groan from the other man on his chest and it rattles him as though he’s the one in pain.

He lets his body move to the safe house on autopilot. He sticks to the shadows, preferring not to have to fight anyone while carrying a body in his hands. He doesn’t want to say that he’s…worried because that would mean he cares.

No, instead he focuses on the amount of information he can draw out of Morrison. Even if they had once been close friends, Morrison is privy to more information than any other lackey he could run into. The cold dread that sits in his belly is not the reason why he kicks down the door and throws down Morrison onto his bed. He runs to the bathroom, goes through every cabinet until he finds the complimentary medical kit that’s collected a lot of dust from being unused for so long.

He doesn’t want to admit just how shaken he is from seeing Morrison again, but he’s forced to when clawed hands start ripping up his clothes. Blood oozes out of the bullet holes, staining the white sheets. Morrison hisses in pain, though he still remains unconscious. Good. He doesn’t have to be awake for this.

His thoughts focus on whether or not the _culero_ will see the next morning or not. Claws tentatively assess the wound, pinches gauze around his abdomen with surprising finesse than he remembers having.

He notices then that there’s a talon missing from his right index. Trivial, he knows. He leaves the thought behind and continues dressing the wound. The tips of his claws graze his skin, leaving thin red streaks across his skin. Normally, he’s okay with the sharpened talons made to cut even at the slightest touch because that’s how they’re designed.

Reaper grunts in disapproval before pausing his treatment and tearing off the gloves from his hands. Not now, he thinks. Not now when the only ghost that mattered to him could fade away again.

After all, he has information, he tells himself.

It isn’t long before the angry gash is wrapped behind sterile white gauze. Though there is a pinprick of blood at the center of the cloth, even Reaper is impressed with himself and how he still remembers basic treatments. He hasn’t needed to take care of himself like this. His body heals at even the slightest intake of souls, no matter how far gone into death the body has gone.

After he’s sure that Morrison won’t die right here and now, Reaper has a moment to think.

What the fuck is he doing?

Morrison – _Soldier_ , he corrects himself hastily – needs to be tied up and ready to be interrogated. He has information he wants and he’s done it before to other agents where he’ll torture them until they squeal. Morrison needs to be reminded of his past failures, of the corruption that lurked right under him.

Reaper lets his eyes wander across Morrison’s body, the same way he used to when he was younger and Morrison was laying on a bed, teasing him as his own fingers trailed across toned planes of muscle. Only, instead of taking the sight in, Reaper looks over his handiwork and eventually sets his eyes on the worn silver adorning the black turtleneck. Its logo blinks, a faint orange light that snaps Reaper out of his thoughts instantly.

Overwatch is calling him.

The information alone is more than enough for Reaper. He was aware of the recall when his own little emblem glowed a response. He didn’t think much about it at the time, merely thinking it as some poor attempt on the monkey’s part to call for help after the attack. Now though, as he watches Soldier move on the bed and trying to regain consciousness, he realizes that it wasn’t a SOS.

Overwatch is back.

Morrison is alive. He went back.

He phases out of the room, letting his thoughts get the best of him. After all, now that he knows Jack is alive and breathing again, Reaper will do anything to keep close by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be a short fic, I said. It wasn't supposed to explode into a 15,000+ word fic with 4 chapters planned out. 
> 
> I have the other three chapters written, just need to be edited. I don't write action scenes all that well, so this was a nice attempt at stretching that particular muscle out. Also, I'm not particularly fluent in spanish and really only know the swear words intimately. Please let me know if something's wrong in translation.
> 
> mierda: shit  
> cabron: dumbass  
> decir la verdad y viveras: tell the truth and you'll live  
> gringo: white man/guy  
> culero: asshole


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back.

The safe house was compromised, that much Reaper already knows. He brought the trouble to himself.

He doesn’t bother going back, instead keeping a safe distance away from the place as though it’s a radioactive hotspot. Although there exists a part of him that desires to stay and catch up with Morrison, his pride swelters in his chest. It reminds him of everything he’s done to get to this point: a touch of envy for a coveted position, disagreements that turned into full-blown arguments, the biting silence as they could no longer stand in each other’s company and fought to keep each other away.

The inevitable metaphorical and literal explosion that blew them apart.

Reaper inhales, the breath of air clearing his thoughts from the rather morose past he’s been trying to ignore. It seems that nowadays, that’s all he’s been doing. Even as Death, his old age gets to him. A forlorn sigh escapes his lips.

Instead of dwelling on something as stupid as getting old, Reaper turns to a better way to spend his time. Morrison, or Soldier: 76, has been running around the world seemingly dismantling Los Muertos operations and putting right in where wrongs have been done. Though Reaper can chalk it up to simply being acts of kindness and just how Morrison’s always ran, knowing that he’s aligned with Overwatch changes everything.

It’s all too real that he may be working under orders or even letting himself out on the field. Though something as trivial as drug busts and weapons trafficking may seem a waste of time for the budding organization, if Morrison’s been involved, he may be trying to make a stand. Goody two-shoes Morrison always trying to be a hero.

No, wait. He remembers news from a year ago about how Soldier: 76 was sighted in Dorado as the police arrested unconscious gang members in an alleyway. The thought only returns to him because he was trying to read up on any former Overwatch members making the news in any way.

So maybe Morrison’s just doing this on the side? It’s not like Overwatch can really do anything legally. That brings his mind back to the issue at hand.

Now that they’re back, what can he do? He supposes he could hunt them down, but would that really work? He’s sure that the others are aware of what he’s been doing for the past three years. The stupid monkey would have let them know of the attack at Gilbraltar and how he was so close to finding them all and killing them if needed.

Could he really go back to that? It’s a dangerous situation altogether, the unknowns more discouraging than anything.

_“Come on, Reyes!” A hand pulls him back up to his feet and when he looks up, there’s a brilliant smile etched onto his beautiful face. “Amari said she’s treating us to food. You know, as a celebration of surviving another day in this war.”_

_His own voice is raspy, dry as he replies. “We have a mission tomorrow, unless I’m mistaken. Her ideas of celebrating usually involve alcohol of some sort.”_

_His eyes twinkle in amusement. “You know they won’t take it that far. And besides,” his grip tightens, “you know I can’t go anywhere without you. Just for tonight, I want you to relax.”_

Then again, he’s always faced unknowns head on. Who is he to let this opportunity slip by?

He rationalizes as best as he can, knowing what he knows. The stupid monkey doesn’t exactly have a way to safely leave off the rock the watch point sits on, not without the threat of suspicion and maybe fucking animal control at the helm ready to put him down.

In all seriousness, there really isn’t anywhere he _could_ go at this rate, so Reaper has to assume the recall location is there.

Soldier should be awake by now, probably very lost and confused at where he is. He imagines either a grumbling old man with his defenses raised high or a doddering soldier carefully assessing the situation around him before determining that there’s no one there. Maybe he even pieces together that it’s an old safe house that his old friend used a long time ago. A part of Reaper regrets leaving him behind, but he also can’t deal with the emotional baggage that he represents. Reaper’s spent a long time burying that hatchet and he’s not ready to dig it back up.

He eventually leaves Dorado as quickly as he had come, hauled away on a flight to Gilbraltar. Although he usually uses one of Talon’s readily available jets for this and would prefer it to this instance, he can’t leave a trail. Can’t compromise what might not even be real. Though he’d rather avoid using public forms of transportation altogether, it’s the only option he has left presented to him. He can’t take off the mask and risk being spotted as someone else that’s supposed to be dead. He can’t leave the mask on and risk being gunned down. These days, everything rears its ugly head to remind Reaper that the whole of humanity does not want his presence.

Then he remembers Morrison’s unconscious face and finds himself drawn to the thought. If he’s found a place to belong again, Reaper will find that place with him. After all, dead men have to stick together, right? Through the grave and beyond?

Reaper shakes his head from his thoughts and in the back of his mind, he can remember Morrison chiding him for his more dramatic flairs and bouts of moodiness. He remembers arms circling around his waist, his head resting at the base of his neck and –

He comes to when the plane takes off and the momentum stirs Reaper from his reverie.

There’s no sensor in the world that can detect a dead man. The only way he gets caught is if someone sees him, though he’s certain that it won’t come up. He’s cautious enough and if something happens, he has his shotguns holstered in his clothing. Although he hates riding with luggage (the edges stab him in his sides and there are moments where the weight crushes him and he has to use his abilities to stay above the sea of luggage), he can’t find it in himself to complain this time.

“ _Odio_ _esto,_ ” he mutters as the plane moves again and the shift of baggage under him threatens to overcome him again. “ _Voy a matar a ese idiota si lo veo de nuevo_ _._ ”

The only reprieve he’s had this whole flight is that he’s talking to himself and he’s muttering spite at Morrison. And that is not where his thoughts need to go. When he touches ground, he takes special care in clawing up the luggage under him, making sure to tear holes.

Despite everything that’s ever happened in the past twenty years, Gilbraltar is still quite the sight to behold. A lot of the city has changed since Overwatch’s fall from grace. No more does it advertise the organization proudly. Reaper can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen Overwatch in any public area. The city’s grown though, expanded upwards toward the sky. The towering buildings have plants growing around itself, resembling a spiraling mass of forest more than a human-made building. He supposes that’s more for environmental concerns than any sort of décor.

Reaper scowls, feeling more and more out of place in this place sprawling with life. It’s a stark reminder of his condition, of the lack of life he possesses. His feet move of its own accord, towards one place that he dared to call home at one point. Absently, his mind wanders to that night and focuses on Morrison’s words. He’s not lonely. He’s not crazy either. Well, at this rate, Reaper isn’t really sure what constitutes as normal for him anymore. But he knows he’s not…completely crazy.

He has enough wits to approach the base with caution.

He sighs, though it comes out more ominously than what he’s actually feeling. Considering everything he’s done, can he really just waltz back in there and expect open arms? He doesn’t even know who’s responded to the recall. He hasn’t let anyone escape his wrath, but not even he knows if he could put down one of the familiar faces he used to work beside.

Well, it’s really only one person he can’t kill. He can’t risk losing him again.

Reaper squashes the doubt in his stomach and goes straight onto the winding rocky path. He’s not sure if the AI would actually pick up on his presence, but he’s not exactly the most inconspicuous person in the world right now.

He’s about twenty feet from the entrance when the door opens to reveal a readily-armed team of agents. Reaper searches for an orange visor and finds himself slightly relieved that he doesn’t find it. Still in Dorado then, perhaps even trying to make it back.

“Move one inch,” Winston bellows with authority as the others around him tense, “and I think not even you can get out of here without a scratch.”

Reaper’s eyes dart between each agent, silently assessing them and taking note of the new team. Though there are a few faces he doesn’t recognize – a young girl in a mech, a woman wearing a big fur coat holding a peculiar pistol, and a young man holding an amplifier --, he recognizes the majority of the team standing there.

He doesn’t have the time to fully let himself take note of it all though as there’s suddenly a weight on the base of his spine. A cold blade edges right on his coat and ah, so even the ninja returned.

“Drop your weapons,” Genji says as he presses the blade into the coat.

He complies, slowly digging through his coat to drop his guns to the floor. Reaper exhales through his nose slowly, keeping his hands above his head as Overwatch personnel swarm him. Pharah raises her rocket, finger on the trigger. As do Lena with her pistols and McCree with Peacekeeper resting on the sight. It’s laughable, if Reaper could still find a reason to laugh at anything. If anything, the world enjoys laughing at him.

“How did you find us?” Winston’s tone is controlled, though Reaper notes the tinge of rage belying his words. “This is a secured checkpoint.”

Reaper really does laugh there, small and mocking, as Winston glares at him harder. There’s a snide remark sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he decides against it. Really, the damned monkey should know why, but he doesn’t.

“That’s enough,” Ziegler steps in with her Caduceus staff in hand.

They all turn to her, wide eyes and for some whose faces are hidden, tension pulling at their shoulders. McCree is the first to answer, sputters out a weak, “do you not see who’s standin’ in front of us?”

“Yes and normally, I’d share the same sentiment with you.” Sapphire eyes turn to his with a concerned expression. “However, he’s injured.”

Reaper raises a brow at that. However, he can’t move, for he’s certain that’d earn him some retaliation. Some of the heroes in front of him are twitchy, ready to let loose at any perceived aggression. Reaper shares the same feeling, ashen fingers itching for his Hellfire shotguns currently sitting on the floor.

Angela pushes through them and flips the switch on her staff.

“Doctor Ziegler,” Genji calls out. “That is not the best course of action –“

“Give me ten minutes with him in my office,” she keeps walking towards the mercenary. Her voice is steel, “Fareeha will escort me, but I want to be alone.”

The last word creates a protest with the team. They all start yelling, arguing against her decision, with Genji and Fareeha being the most obstinate. Reaper raises a brow under the mask, wondering just how stupid the doctor could be. Silently, he agrees with the others if only because he doesn’t really want to be left alone with the woman who made him this way.

Angela raises a hand and silences the room. When she’s sure that she can speak, she gives them a placating smile. “Do not worry. If he does retaliate, I will have Fareeha at the door and my pistol close by.”

Although her words do nothing to soothe the worries, Reaper can tell when Winston relents only because she’s a stubborn headed doctor. The scientist sighs. “Fine, Angela. But please exercise caution.”

Angela bows and then signals for the Egyptian woman to follow. Hardened onyx eyes keep a close eye on the wraith and Reaper hears the soft click of a rocket settling into place.

Warm welcome, he thinks sullenly.

It’s a quick walk, a silent one. When they reach her office, Angela takes Fareeha aside and tells her to stand guard.

“Any screaming from my part,” Angela pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, “and you have my permission to rush right in.”

“Could I not just rush in if I think of any perceived danger?” Fareeha’s expression is stony, calculating. “He can get rid of you quietly using his…abilities.”

Angela smiles then, a placating one that Reaper recognizes as her patented patient smile. It’s the same smile he remembers from when he laid in a hospital bed, staring up at a white ceiling and having her click her tongue as she proceeds with her examination.

“I promise. If you don’t hear any noise after…let’s say fifteen minutes, then you come in.”

Fareeha doesn’t seem any more pleased by that, but sighs as she straightens up and nods. A soldier through and through, just like her mother.

It’s not a second later that Ziegler walks through the door and Reaper follows. The door slides shut. Ziegler strides to her office, where Reaper notices the windows are tinted from the outside. An odd practice, but he’s always known that she’s exercised caution about patient confidentiality. Especially when she deals with sensitive topics that no one else will ever know. She holds the door for him, guiding him in. Reaper strides through, only turning around when he turns his back to a wall. He doesn’t trust anyone to have his back right now.

She shuts the door behind her and the _click_ makes this moment much more final than it should be. The pregnant silence is stifling, a pressure that Reaper does not like. The owl-like mask oozes with smoke as Reaper lets out a breath for intimidation.

“The great doctor being firm for once in her life.” Reaper leans against the wall, watching her intently. He doesn’t intend for any harm, for there’s a specific reason he’s here and he’d rather not risk his only path to burn right in front of him. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Give me your arm.” Ziegler holds out her hand and motions for the appendage.

Reaper makes a face behind the expressionless mask, confused as to where this is coming from. “What the hell do you want – “

“Gabriel, please.”

Reaper stops breathing.

She’s still staring him down, though now her expression is muddied in a mixture of swirling emotions. He doesn’t oblige her with a reply, yet she looks away and crosses her arms to hold herself.

“You’re really…” She trails off, sadness tinging the last syllable.

He grabs her throat, but controls himself enough to not press down and snap her pretty little neck. “This stays between us, Ziegler. No one needs to fucking know.”

Though the gloves mute his touch, Reaper can sense her blood rushing through her veins. Whether it’s from fear or adrenaline, he can’t really say. Ziegler always struck him as a strong woman, even if she wasn’t the most physically adept fighter in Overwatch. He watches her, careful not to make her little bodyguard come barging in and misconstruing what’s happening here.

Angela delicately places a hand on the arm holding her still. Reaper follows the length of her arm to meet despairing blue eyes. It’s always fucking blue that ruins him. Though her eyes aren’t as bright, aren’t as clear as the ones that haunt him, it is still enough to render Reaper speechless.

“I promise. After all, I always believed in you, even when the others didn’t.”

_Mentira_ s, he thinks sullenly. No one bothered to come to Blackwatch’s defense when shit hit the fan. Ziegler is either biding for time and strategizing something because her words don’t…it doesn’t make sense.

“I had already failed Jack when we couldn’t recover his body,” she continues and the despondent sound in her voice sounds so _genuine_. “You can’t imagine the small relief I had in finding your body in the rubble. I wanted to believe that you were merely another claimed victim of that attack.” And then her hand curls around his wrist. “I had a decision to make: to either let you die for certain or attempt to save your life with an experiment that I never should have let happen.”

“But then something went wrong,” she continues. “To this day, I still don’t know, but the moment I heard of your abilities, I knew. Only the nanobots I had created could do such a thing. Only they could change a person’s composition to the cellular level and attempt to rebuild from the ground up.”

Reaper isn’t sure if he should speak, but morbid curiosity takes ahold of him. “So why didn’t you tell your precious team out there about your suspicions? Would’ve saved them a whole lot of time.”

“I had my suspicions, but It wasn’t worth explaining what my failure was.” There’s a wet sheen to her eyes as she holds back the tears. “I thought I lost both of you that night. That for all the accolades in the world, I couldn’t even save one person that was important to me.”

Reaper laughs darkly as he lets her go and steps back. If he were honest to himself, he couldn’t handle the vivid blue eyes staring at him so closely. “I’m not a charity case, Ziegler. You made me into this abomination.”

“But,” she brings a finger to her eye and there’s a crinkle of a smile pulling at her lips, “you’re here now. That has to mean something.”

Reaper stays silent, doesn’t want to reveal two world-changing secrets so soon. He looks away from her even if he knows that she can’t see the grimace on his face. Smoke curls around his fingers, itching to leave and get out of this situation because it’s too emotionally charged for him right now.

Instead, he mutters to himself in Spanish, knowing that she won’t pick up on it. “ _Si supieras_.”

* * *

 

He wonders what Angela has said to Winston to even make him consider keeping Reaper alive at all. Though they all know that it’s damn near impossible to keep Reaper down for long, even the mercenary is surprised when Ziegler and Winston show him his quarters. It’s at the back of the complex, filled to the brim with cameras and security drones. A part of Reaper shakes his head at the obvious surveillance, but he knows that it’s more for their comfort of mind than actually monitoring him. He’s not sure how capable their AI is at picking up his presence, but he’d rather not test it out.

“Thank you for cooperating,” Ziegler states calmly as she types in a password. “Winston will be working with Athena to give you limited access to the server, but don’t expect a full access to the facility any time soon.”

Reaper rumbles darkly, not caring anymore about the conversation. Ziegler’s done more than enough for him, both good and bad. He supposes he owes her for at least hearing him out and not telling anyone of her revelation. Though he equates that last part to her pride and the agony of being unable to save him.

“We’ll be assigning someone to keep watch over you,” Winston says with a hint of disapproval as he pushes the frame of his glasses up, “so stay on your best behavior.”

He doesn’t really know if he could guarantee that, but Reaper doesn’t say anything. The scientist takes it as an affirmative and pads his way out of the room. Reaper watches him leave, feeling better now that the gorilla is out of the room.

“Don’t mind him,” Angela chimes in. “We’ve had to talk this out with everyone for the past two hours over what to do with you. Considering how small we’re starting off, we’re all not at our best at the moment.” She starts heading for the door. “If you need anything, just call for me or ask the guard posted at the door.”

With that, she takes her leave.

It’s a few days of isolation, of being kept at bay while the stupid monkey and his lackeys – the new Overwatch, he mentally corrects – move about and figure out what to do. At this point, the muted ache in his body reaches a new apex of pain. Where his cells usually thrive under his skin, it feels like they’re contracting and tightening. So far, he manages to distract himself from the pain. He mentally constructs sixteen different plans of getting out of here, the one plan he’s entertained the most being a way of contacting Morrison and whisking him away like some goddamn fairy tale.

It’s the fourth day when he decides to finally do something.

Jesse is keeping watch and god, the ingrate still looks like an idiot. At least when he wore the Blackwatch gear, he looked somewhat respectable even if he still wore the ridiculous hat. Now though, Reaper wants to take the red seraph and strangle him with it. A fucking _cowboy_ of all things.

However, McCree stays outside the door, whistling a jaunty tune to himself as he cleans the built-up grime inside of Peacekeeper’s chamber. Good. Reaper doesn’t know if he could handle any more people and the possibility of his identity being exposed. Instead, he turns his head up to the ceiling and glares at the intercom.

He needs to remember why he’s here. _Morrison,_ his mind supplies graciously. _Morrison can’t die._ The resolve stings surprisingly. After all, it isn’t every day that he finds himself willing to lay down his life again for a man who, by accounts, should be dead. With the goal in mind, Reaper flicks his attention to his surroundings and takes stock.

He’s aware of his every movement being observed and recorded by that damn computer. Reaper isn’t stupid. However, he’s restless. He was never known as one to stay still through anything.

“Hey,” he calls out. “I know you’re listening.”

“How am I able to assist you?” Athena replies, but he imagines the AI’s reluctance in her words and it’s enough to cheer Reaper up for a brief moment.

“Am I able to speak to Mercy?” He redacts the good doctor’s name at the last minute, aware that a mere mention of her name could go a long way in ruining his plan. Though her fame in the medical field far precedes herself, Reaper doesn’t want to give anyone even a hint of suspicion.

“Doctor Ziegler is currently in her office attending to a patient,” the icon on his computer blips with a notification, “but I have been expressly told to keep you in here until further authentication has been processed.”

Since when does Reaper ever follow the rules? He considers many ways to get to her, if only to use her as a free pass to find Soldier: 76. If he ghosts out of here, the staff here would attempt to kill him and push him out of here. Not an option. He could tell the AI to request a visit with her, but he imagines that would either be denied by the AI and Winston on the grounds of safety or mysteriously never reach the good doctor herself.

In hindsight, the third idea he comes up with is significantly easier.

“You want to what now?” Jesse stands at the door, Peacekeeper gleaming in his hands. “There ain’t no way in hell I’m lettin’ you outta here.”

Reaper scowls behind the mask, but keeps his even tone as he replies briskly. “I’m willing to divulge Talon operative information, but only to her.” He lifts his head to meet Jesse’s baffled expression. “Since no one else has opted to defend me as well as she has.”

To his defense, Jesse asks for Winston’s permission first before outright believing Reaper. _Como un_ _nińo,_ he thinks. Eventually, they relent and Jesse slowly lets him out of his room. “Try any funny business,” Jesse juts the barrel of his gun directly onto Reaper’s spine, “and I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

Jesse starts moving, pressing Peacekeeper on his skin to get him to move. Reaper scowls at the intimidation, but says nothing as he moves forward. The faint memories that linger in a compartmentalized room in his mind does not do the actual sight any wonders. Reaper lets his eyes wander, reminiscing despite himself.

He sees younger versions of the old members walking about, sees Jesse with both arms. Reinhardt boisterously greeting everyone. Angela tucking a strand of hair behind her ears as she makes small talk. Ana guiding young Fareeha with a smile on her face. Morrison walking alongside Reyes and giving him a brilliant smile –

“You okay there, partner?”

Suddenly, the images fade. Instead of the sepia-toned color his memories show him, the dying red sunset fills the room. There’s no more of that, isn’t there. All those people have changed ever since the fall of the original Overwatch. Reaper says nothing as he continues walking.

Soon, he finds himself at the door of the medical bay. Jesse leans on the wall, his heel clicking as he adjusts.

“Well, go on. Git. Pretty sure Angela would just tell me to sit out here.” He takes a cigarillo out of his pocket and starts lighting the end. “’sides, I got somethin’ else to do.”

How courteous of him. Reaper scowls behind the mask, but walks through the door. It hisses open and shut and –

He comes face-to-face with a familiar red visor. Even after death, Reaper is left breathless.

“What the hell is this?”

Reaper silently agrees with the sentiment. Eyes dart over to Ziegler, who’s staring him down with surprise evident in her body language. She hastily places her clipboard down and moves in between the two of them and it’s only now that Reaper notices Soldier with his rifle in his hands and poised to fire.

“Gentlemen, please-“

“You’re going to defend a murderer, Doctor?” Soldier screams, his distorted voice scattering Reaper’s thoughts at just how broken it sounds. “He’s a part of the organization that tore apart Overwatch. Don’t tell me you really want to defend a monster like that.”

Reaper silently assents to Soldier’s words, knowing that the weight of his words ring true. He is a monster, an inhuman freak of nature that needs to devour human souls to survive. He’s burned countless bridges to redemption as he’s hunted down Overwatch operatives for information about the corruption inside the organization. He’s raised shotguns to innocent civilians’ heads and pulled the trigger without remorse. He could go on about the numerous tasks he’s done for Talon and the ways he’s dirtied his hands, but Reaper finds himself more tired than anything.

Thankfully, Angela intervenes and faces Soldier with a stern look. “I understand what he’s done, but the mere fact that he is cooperating and is willing to help us means more than anything.”

Ah. So Winston did message her about his negotiation to get out of his room. Reaper never had any loyalties to Talon anyways. Their tenuous partnership is simply that: a mutual exploitation of what the other can offer. For Talon, they have a mercenary with no qualms of killing and an endless list of missions to take on. Reaper sees them as a source of information, as a way to discern the truth of what happened all those years ago.

“So he’s a turncoat.” Soldier spits out and tightens his grip on the rifle. “He goes from one place to the next and leaves husks of bodies in his wake, Angela. We can’t let this monster stay here any longer than necessary!”

The word stings more than it should. He’s always been aware of what such a bodily composition entails. He notices Talon agents avoiding him, less they incur a swift and painful death by his hands. He’s heard the rumors that thrum through his intelligence networks. An inhuman freak of nature with a short temper and a vast hunger for souls.

Speaking of, Reaper’s bones ache at the thought. He needs to do something about that.

Ziegler stays rooted where she is, hands extended in a cautionary ward. Icy blue eyes watch Soldier and Reaper imagines that she has that same piercing stare she gave him a few days ago in her office.

“I’m aware of what he’s done,” she straightens up and takes a step forward as she speaks, “but he’s here because he wants to be. He’s cooperated with every single order we’ve given him down to the letter. I am the one who is holding onto his weaponry –“ Angela points at his Hellfire shotguns sitting in plain sight on her desk – “Winston has kept a vigil eye on him and both Jesse and Fareeha have said he’s complied with staying in the room.”

Reaper imagines Soldier’s face in one of two ways: either the vigilante’s ire at the monster and his continued existence or the wide-eyed surprise of an old man who doesn’t expect the outburst. Both facial expressions are quite exaggerated in Reaper’s head and he finds himself softly chuckling. A pair of blue eyes and a visor turn to the sound. Reaper stifles the laughter and drills his attention onto the far wall as he speaks.

“Never had any loyalty to anything anyways. All of it burned a long time ago.” Reaper says calmly, even though his thoughts are anything but. “I’m only here for one reason and I’ll get it one way or anything, even if I give up everything I’ve worked on for the past ten years.”

Ziegler eyes him, more out of confusion than anything. That bleeding heart of hers doesn’t expect Reaper to have an ulterior motive in seeking out Overwatch and now that he’s mentioned it, he can see the cogs in her head whirring to piece every interaction together. It’s obvious that the woman wants to ask questions and prod more, but she wants to talk to Gabriel. Not Reaper.

Soldier though, he’s more open with his questions.

“Is that reason anything related to the destruction of this current Overwatch?” He grunts out and starts walking forward. Even Angela’s hands pushing back his body does nothing to stop Soldier’s stride. “Will I come back from a mission one day and find everyone here dead at your hands? How can I even trust that you won’t kill the two of us here,” and his visor projects a wide screen, “and just go on a rampage?”

“Because then my sole purpose would be gone.” Reaper says solemnly. The thought of even a bloodied Morrison is enough to make his stomach churn. Weakling, he chides himself. “For whatever you want to think, my reason for being here has forced me to ensure the…success of this new Overwatch, despite my actual thoughts about it.”

The honesty that leaves Reaper’s mouth is surprising both to himself and the other two.

Soldier is the first to break the silence with a scoff. He drops the rifle in his hands and taps a button on the side of his mask to shut off the screen. He doesn’t say anything, though Reaper would like him to. He’s used to an earnest, too good for this world Morrison. Though that glimmer is still there, evident in his actions, the lull in the conversation is telling enough for Reaper that he doesn’t want to say anything.

Instead, he shoulders through him and leaves the office in a huff.

Ziegler is the next to recuperate, though she seems much more concerned about the man that just left. “I am sorry about that. He just arrived this morning and was telling me about what happened.”

Oh. He hums out of acknowledgement. He’s still stuck in place from seeing Morrison change so drastically.

“He told me that he ran into you, but then the next thing he remembered was that he was holed up in some small house far away from where you had met him.” She pouts as she says her thoughts aloud.

Finally, Reaper regains his wits and decides to change the topic. He doesn’t want think about Morrison anymore, even though there still exists a lingering thought. “I’m here because I want to negotiate being able to move around the base in exchange for information.”

“Yes, I heard from Winston.” She meets his eyes with concern. “Are you sure? Why do you suddenly want to do this?”

_For Morrison._ “I don’t have to answer that. Do you want my information or not?”

For a moment, Angela tenses, clearly looking torn at something. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she comes to, there’s steel in her eyes. “Please tell me anything that you are comfortable with – “ she guides him to a seat; he declines and stands with his arms crossed “ – and I will be having Athena recording this conversation.”

“Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda envision Reaper to be dramatic when he's on the field and shit, but pensive and over-analytical as fuck when he's by himself. Especially when it comes to Jack. So just a personal thought of mine, which is the reason why he may come across as a little different. As always, let me know if there are any translation errors!
> 
> odio esto: I hate this  
> voy a matar a ese idiota si lo veo de nuevo: i'm going to kill that idiot if i see him again  
> mentiras: lies  
> si supieras: if you knew  
> como un nino: like a child/boy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing things the hard way.

It takes another week of close observations – subtle observations from Fareeha and Winston and the blatant open contacts from Ziegler and the ingrate – before the group decides to let him wander around the base. Soldier seems to have an uncanny way of avoiding Reaper because in the few days of his wandering about, he has yet to see a glimpse of white hair and the streak of red from his mask. But he digresses. Ever the hard worker, Ziegler vouches for him, tells him that he has to wear a tracking device in the lining of his heavy coat.

She makes an effort to try and talk to him every day. Since the other team members don’t want to be anywhere near the mercenary, she takes it upon herself to extend her company, no matter how unwanted it is at times. Right now, they’re outside on a ledge, watching waves splash against the cliff side. Breath of fresh air would do us some good, she told him.

She also tells him that it’s her turn to take care of the rose bushel growing on the rooftop because Winston asked her to. He rolls his eyes at that, but says nothing and merely watches the setting sun as she waters the plants.

After a deafening silence, Angela comes up next to him and joins him in his sight-seeing.

“Torbjörn insisted on developing a security system solely to monitor you and Jesse even wanted to stay as a guard,” Ziegler says as she taps a finger on the metal railing, “but I managed to convince them the tracking device will do.”

The smile on her face is faint and weak, a sign that she feels a little miffed about the whole situation. Reaper gets it, he does. Doesn’t mean he has to like it. She gives him a slightly livelier smile.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were grateful to me.”

“The mere fact that I haven’t walked away,” Reaper crosses his arms, “is enough of a gratitude for you.”

“Hmm,” she hums lightly in amusement.

Way too fucking chipper. Even after all these years, Reaper knows that she has something she considers good news. He’s gruff, keeps his gaze on the receding tide as he speaks. “What do you want?”

She stops her fidgeting, breaks away her gaze on the sea to look directly at him. “Why, whatever do you mean?” Her voice is higher, sweeter.

“You know what I mean, Ziegler.”

Instead of answering him, she directs her attention back to the view. “You know, you’ve been a lot more subdued lately.”

“Answer my question or else I’ll show you fucking subdued.”

She giggles. She fucking giggles at him. Does she not understand who he is? The amount of carnage and death he can bring about in a matter of seconds if he puts his mind to it? His temper flares and smoke billows out from his form.

“Something’s keeping you here,” she replies with a hint of amusement still tinging her otherwise serious tone, “and it’s enough to have you stay somewhat cordial. I’ve been trying to figure out what, but it hasn’t come to me yet.”

This is not the conversation he wants right now. Reaper snarls and pushes off from the railing. He takes three steps away from her before she speaks again.

“It’s because of Jack, isn’t it?”

He stops. Turns around to face her with bewilderment hidden behind the mask. Does she…? The silence between them is unbearable and for a moment, he wonders if she knows he’s alive again. Right under her nose acting like some tough soldier.

“Are you trying to respect his wishes? By making sure this new Overwatch doesn’t suffer the same fate?”

Her words pull him out of his stupor. If Morrison hasn’t made his presence aware, then he’s not one to spoil that surprise for them anytime soon. He stays quiet, listening to the sounds of waves receding back and forth beneath him. It’s another solemn hush between the two and Ziegler fixes her look before her as well.

There’s a _beep_ and she sighs as she brings forward her wrist to read the message. The neutral expression changes into a look of excitement as her eyes dart over the words. Reaper’s well-honed senses knows when something is about to happen, whether it’s in the heat of battle or in the face of a well-intentioned doctor whose smile elicits a spark of hesitance in the base of his spine.

When she shuts the screen off, she speaks again with a lilt in her voice. “Pretty soon, they’re going to let you out on a scouting mission.”

“Let me guess. You did me a favor again.” At this point, Reaper can almost predict the way her smile brightens at his words. As though by offering him opportunities, she’d be able to redeem him and show him the light again. _Like a fucking angel indeed._

“Ah yes, but before I get to that –“She motions for him to follow, which he does. “—we have a meeting to attend.”

Reaper doesn’t hide the surprise that colors his voice. “Oh? And your team is okay with letting me in them? When all of them want to try and kill me?”

He takes a small sense of satisfaction at the way her shoulders tense. If he wasn’t directly behind her watching her keenly for any reaction, he would have missed it. She makes a right, goes for where he remembers the main hall would be.

“I don’t think they’d try to kill you anymore,” she says softly, as though she’s trying to think of how to phrase her words. “You haven’t done anything but help us since you’ve arrived.”

He’s silent, impassive as he thinks of his past two weeks here. He really hasn’t done anything to antagonize them, hasn’t he? He hasn’t left the compound even though he could have at any point. He’s detailed Talon operations to Angela and divulged specific leaders that he’s had contact with. He’s taken care to avoid everyone and stay out of their way as much as possible, though that last one is easy since they give him the same space.

“After this debriefing,” Angela’s tone is jovial again, “I’m sure they’ll believe in you the same way I do.”

The sheer level of trust she has in him makes him queasy. Someone like him shouldn’t get any sort of kindness thrown his way.

When they arrive at the conference hall, it takes everything within Reaper to not fade away into the background at the heavy stares in his direction. Angela takes it in stride, giving soft greetings to those she passes before taking her seat beside Winston at the head of the table.

Reaper sticks to the corner, silently feeling more like a petulant child and not like the menacing entity of death itself. He notes the ragtag group of heroes gathered here today: Genji standing passively aside with Jesse, Winston and Angela at the head of the table, Pharah and Lena conversing over the former’s stint at the Helix security complex, D.VA and Lucio exuberantly texting on their phones as they talk about music and video games. Reaper tries his hardest not to look at Soldier’s direction, but he does. He sees how despite the easy camaraderie between everyone, the old man watches this all unfurl while standing by himself on the other side of the table. Almost as though he’s afraid of something.

With a forced cough, Winston starts the meeting.

“Good morning.” There’s a chorus of hellos and good mornings. “Thank you all for coming. Formalities aside, let’s get down to business. Athena, if you please.”

“Of course,” the AI replies tonelessly as she pulls up documents, news articles, and maps of what Reaper realizes is Numbani. Considering the last bit of information that he mentioned, he’s not really surprised that they are acting quickly to contain the situation.

Winston straightens up and flicks a document up on the projector for everyone to see. “About six months ago before the recall, there was an attack that received national attention. Initially, I thought it merely a small issue and put it aside. However,” and there’s another document on the screen detailing the hero Doomfist, “when he left the organization, his armor was unsalvageable save for one gauntlet. Although the device was…damaged during the attack –“ and at that, Lena smirks “— we have reasons to believe that the terrorist group Talon is planning another heist to take it.”

Not even Reaper knows why Talon is interested in the relic. The gauntlet, while an impressive piece of technology that even he respects, is an artifact. In the few times he’s let himself wonder about this subject, he surmises that maybe they want the stupid thing to reverse engineer the technology themselves and use it for their own agents. Before, the idea means nothing to him. The only things he’d care about is the flow of information and more contracts to kill.

Now though? The bubbling of dread sits somewhere uncomfortable for him.

When Reaper reels his thoughts back to focus on the meeting, Winston has thrown up a map of the city highlighted with various markings and a streak of yellow outlining the projected path.

“After some deliberation on the UN’s part, they’ve decided to move the gauntlet to a safer and disclosed location.” The gorilla circles various rooftops and wide areas that look like plazas. “On this mission, we need to be covert and quick. Avoid these areas since they’re residential areas and are more likely to have witnesses.”

Genji is the first to speak, putting a chrome finger on the targeted building at the end of the projected path. “Is the security detail aware that we are defending them? When the third party intervenes, it is highly likely that they will mistake us for the enemy.”

Winston shakes his head. “Unfortunately, it is too short-notice to let them know and they wouldn’t believe us even if we did tell them. This is a confidential mission that we are only aware of because of new intel.”

Reaper feels the pairs of eyes drifting to his general direction and it makes his aching flesh crawl.

Angela clears her throat, bringing back their attention to her. “This new intelligence suggests that Talon has plans with the gauntlet. We cannot let them succeed in any way possible.” She flicks a finger and there’s a portfolio of six people projected. “For this particular mission, considering the approach that needs to be made, we have decided that these six members will go.”

Hmm. So this is the favor she spoke of.

Angela continues, prim as ever. “Genji and Lena here –“ she draws a radius around the payload – “will stick the closest to the point since they are the fastest to react to any trouble around it. Meanwhile, I will be in the sky with Fareeha if any injuries do manage to occur, but will otherwise be your eyes and ears.” Then her gaze slides over to Reaper. “Of course, considering the expected resistance, we will need Soldier: 76 and Reaper’s firepower.”

The mention of his name brings alarmed expressions to nearly everyone save for Ziegler and Winston, who looks more resigned than anything.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Jesse kicks himself off the wall, “I reckon you could have had anyone else to join Soldier over there. There a particular reason he’s going?”

Angela draws a wide circle encompassing the Numbani plaza and then traces her finger along the projected path on the screen. “The expected resistance is from Talon agents. We need to make sure that their backup does not arrive when we enter the scene. Although we have greatly debated where the team will need to be, we have ultimately decided that having them stem off as much of the backup is more important than anything,”

“Ain’t really my place to say,” McCree leans forward onto the table, “but anyone else here could keep them off our backs.”

“Yes, but not everyone here can trick our enemy into thinking they’re still working with them.”

…that’s different. Reaper turns his head slightly, not too quick as to draw attention onto him, but just enough to really look at the woman who’s just suggested a rather underhanded tactic. Inwardly, he’s actually sort of proud of her for playing dirty. However, he’s more than a little annoyed at the way he’s being used here.

Lena tilts her head to the left and looks up in contemplation. “Soo, Reaper ‘ere is a diversion for Talon as well as backup?”

Angela nods. “Although the Talon agents on field will most likely be confused at his presence, they should know of Reaper’s past workings with them and assume that he’s there to help them. It should be enough of a delay to keep the majority of their forces away from the target.”

It’s a solid plan, Reaper admits deep down. However, there’s a lot that can go wrong here. There’s an instance where those agents in question might assume the worst and take Reaper out just because they weren’t made aware of his inclusion. They might also slip past Soldier and Reaper and still interrupt the mission at hand.

And then there’s Soldier himself.

Reaper hasn’t heard a protest from Morrison yet, which surprises him more than he’s willing to admit. Just a week ago, he argued against leaving Reaper so much as breathe another second. Now he doesn’t raise a concern about being partnered up with him? Something’s up.

Before he has time to think about that, Winston interrupts.

“The mission will take place four days from now.” Winston gives a toothy grin. “First mission we’ve had working together as an official team. Let’s get this done and make it back in one piece.”

The amount of steely determination in the room is stifling. Reaper slinks away as soon as the meeting is adjourned, only to have a hand pull him back before he slips through the door. He whips around to glare at the offending person –

Only to meet an impassive orange-red visor.

“We need to talk.”

Famous four words. Reaper can’t help the way his mind drifts back to the last time that sentence was uttered by Morrison. The mere thought of it brings a frown to his face.

The last time he’s said that was right before the explosion in Geneva.

“What do you want?” Reaper spits out a little more forcefully than his liking. “In case you weren’t listening, old man, there’s a mission to be done in four days.”

“It’ll be quick then,” Soldier says gruffly. He jabs at his chest with force. “Just because we’re working together does not mean I trust you. Angela had to convince me not to just put a bullet in your head.”

Ah, so that makes sense. Reaper rolls his eyes, thankful that the mask covers his face. “Is that all?”

“Just know,” Soldier leans in and there’s a crease in his brow in what looks like anger, “if you do anything, I’ll have to go back on my word with her.”

And just as suddenly as the conversation starts, Soldier leaves the conference hall. Reaper ignores the odd looks in his direction and heads back to his room. Though he can hear the _click_ of Angela’s heels behind him, he speeds up when he turns the corner and feels a slight relief when someone calls out for her to stop.

He doesn’t have much to pack, not when he only brought the clothes on his back and the weapons currently in possession of a heart-on-their-sleeve doctor. Hopefully, considering the mission and what exactly is required of him, he’ll need his shotguns. He wonders how the doctor has convinced everyone of giving him back his guns, but decides not to put too much thought into it.

Soon, he finds himself at the helipad, first one in as everyone else says their farewells and wishes them good luck. He rolls his eyes at how utterly sentimental they’re making this, but says nothing as they slowly board and rise to the skies.

Lena looks just as comfortable in the pilot’s seat as ever, maneuvering through the skies as quickly as on the ground. Reaper’s watching the skies pass him by, a shade of blue he’s only found in Jack’s eyes.

Speaking of…

Soldier – Jack, he mentally corrects himself – is watching him like a fucking hawk from the other side of the plane. Well, the visor is in his direction, so that’s what Reaper assumes. He stares right back, knowing the masks they both wear will hide the other’s facial expression. He can’t imagine what face Soldier is making, but Reaper is sneering back at him in dull anger.

He stares for about five minutes before finding the whole thing trivial like children at a playground. He instead focuses on his surroundings because no matter where he’s at, there will always be a part of him that can never trust anyone.

He notes the faded scratches, familiar in its location. He would wander and take note of everything this particular flight has in store for him, but the way Genji guards the entrance tells him that he won’t get to do that.

Still, the jet is still as spacious as ever, even for an old model like this one. It’s outfitted for long missions if he remembers right, with sleeping pods and MRE’s and even a fucking bathroom, though it’s really just a stall with a men’s and women’s sign slapped over two of the doors. Reaper remembers a distant memory in that bathroom.

_“Gabe, what if someone – “ Jack’s breath hitches and it takes a moment to catch his breath – “someone hears us?”_

_Gabriel smirks, pulls him so close that their chests are pressed against each other. He leaves kisses everywhere he can. His smooth neck is littered with faded purple and god, the sight is a reminder that Jack is his. Only his. Jack tries to stifle the yelp from another bite close to that one spot right under his jaw._

_“Let them hear.” Gabriel murmurs and he can feel Jack’s shivers as he speaks. He’s so fucking ready that it almost hurts. “Let them hear that you are mine, cariño. Let them hear your pleasure.”_

_And then Gabriel grinds against Jack and the choked gasp almost makes Gabriel lose it right there. He knows how to make Jack beg, how to make him cry out for more and more and make him into a creature of pleasure. Gabriel’s thigh goes between Jack and Jack already knows what to do. He throws his head back, indulging in the heat and friction Gabriel’s thick thighs present._

_“A-ah, I can’t…” Jack closes his eyes shut and shakes. “I can’t…I’m about to –“_

_And then Gabriel kisses him and lets his hand stroke him out for all he’s good for as he screams –_

“What are you looking at?”

It takes Reaper an embarrassing moment to recollect himself. He can feel the press of his hardening length in his pants, the way his body tingles. He’s not flushed (even if he was, his mask and full-length coat covers everything), but he’s sure that he’d melt over the way Jack is standing over him.

Reaper can’t find the words to reply; too focused on quelling the heat in his loins and the physical reaction to that memory of his. He removes his gaze from the other man, who is still fucking standing there waiting for an answer. Doesn’t he have better things to do? Like nap or something that old men do when they’re bored? Reaper pulls for any excuse he can come up with, anything to deflect from the heaviness of his length yearning for friction.

“Wondering what’s under that stupid mask of yours.”

From this close distance, Reaper doesn’t miss the way Soldier stiffens.

“Cheers, loves!” Lena’s exuberant voice bursts through the intercom, instantly defusing the rising tension in the hangar. “We’re arrivin’ in our destination in ‘bout five minutes!”

Reaper moves away from the other man, looks out a window.

Unlike Gilbraltar, which seems to try and embrace the beauty of nature surrounding it, Numbani is the exact opposite. Holo-signs litter the landscape, brilliant flashes of lights advertising anything and everything. Cars of every size zoom past under them, the bustling activity only adding to the image of a never-quiet city.

There’s a faint image lodged behind his eyes, sounds that play in his ears. The sight of streets and old young faces at his school. The sounds of his mother cooking in the house and playing an old telenovela as his sisters talk amongst themselves. The sight of a beat down gray house down the street from the old gas station where he used to buy drinks from all the time. The sounds of snickers as his friends push him towards the pretty new girl in their class and try to make conversation.

It reminds him of a life before, a home with three annoying sisters and a doting mother and –

When Lena parks the aircraft, Reaper is the first to leave and head for their small little hideout. Gone are the days where there were integral watchpoints at every major city. Instead, they arrive at some old hovel of a warehouse. It’s probably from an old gang of some sort, the way faded graffiti streaks across the walls.

Regardless, the group of four huddles close to each other and talk amongst themselves with Lena being the loudest about her hunger. Angela and Fareeha mumbles in agreement and Genji merely chuckles at the way the pilot dramatically leans over the doctor’s shoulders. They all quickly make a march to the abandoned building, finding a dingy little table caked with dust, and sitting down. Reaper stays to the back, crossing his arms and watching the sight before him.

Lena smiles as she digs out from her pouch a MRE and nibbles at the package. She pulls a face, but still manages to giggle at the way Angela and Fareeha save the cyborg shares the same sentiment. They soon make some small talk, mixed with gossip of the latest TV dramas to less-than-cheery news of the growing crisis in Russia to the cold talk of the upcoming mission.  

Watching the small group of four sit around a table and enjoy a tasteless dinner gives Reaper a strange feeling, like he’s invading in something private. Scowling, he leaves for the roof, far and away from the sight. He lets the door slam shut, the thought of those idiots being startled at the noise making him chuckle.

He climbs the winding staircase and soon, he finds himself at the exit. He pushes open the door, makes sure to find some debris to keep the door open. He’s unsure whether or not the lock mechanism still works, but he’s sure as hell not going to test that out tonight. After assuring that yes, the door won’t close shut on him, Reaper finds a place to sit: by an old and busted air conditioning unit right by the edge of the building.

He sits down and looks up, sees only an opaque indigo sky with white specks of stars peering through the darkness. Even though Numbani is one of the more technologically advanced cities in the world, the emitting lights prevent a full view of the galaxy that they live in.

_Gabriel looks up, sees a whole slew of stars above him, and he freezes. He hears a snicker from beside him and he reins in his surprise, though it does nothing to alleviate the awe he feels._

_“You act like you’ve never seen stars before,” Jack plops down beside him on the grass, gazing up with him._

_“Never seen so many out like this.” Gabriel replies back honestly._

_Jack glances over and Gabriel tries his best to ignore the fluster that’s rising in his stomach from seeing Jack’s fond expression. Indiana is every bit the boredom Gabriel expected when he agreed to tag along with Jack, but the sheer view before the older man makes him stare at the scenery in wonder. He can lay here, watching the whole fucking galaxy above him with the one person he trusts more than anything._

He's getting old, letting himself reminiscence like some doting teenager again.

“Didn’t peg you for some sight-seeing tourist.” Of course. He’s like a fucking cat, the way he slinks into his thoughts and come when he’s not wanted. Reaper keeps his gaze on the world above him, frowning at the dull twinkling of stars and the lack of beauty in this city. Already, he’s itching to leave this place and for more than one reason.

Reaper claws the gravel under him, hoping to keep control so that he doesn’t give the Soldier a reminder of who he used to be. “Seeing the sky reminds me of my purpose.” Perfect. Vague and cryptic, but still fairly obvious if Jack gets the fucking hint.

Unsurprisingly, Soldier just keeps walking toward Reaper with no sign of hesitation. The mercenary wonders if this is his hell, to be tormented by his ghost and never resolve the problems that have plagued him in the afterlife.

Soldier stands over him, hesitating for what seems like an eternity before sitting down beside him. Reaper can’t see the other man’s face, but he’s curious as to what he thinks of this place. He wonders if Jack still liked staring out at sea or watching the sun set and its light bleed into the sky like pastel water colors on a palette. He wonders just how much of Jack has remained the same after all these years, after trudging through life as a shadow of his former self and watching the world decry his name in shame.

“You don’t belong anywhere in this world, do you?” Reaper keeps a steady gaze on what’s above him, far removed from what his rationale is screaming at him. _Don’t fucking ask. Don’t break yourself apart any more than you already have._

Soldier wrings his hands together, grips them tight to stop the fidgeting, a sign of his nervousness. “What do you mean?”

Reaper shrugs and points back towards the door. “Don’t want to hang out with them even though they like you a fuck ton more than me?”

His keen eyes don’t miss the way Soldier stills at that comment. Reaper focuses on the way there’s a single star still shining through the haze of light pollution. A dim hope in this fog of misery.

“None of your business.”

The silence between them is suffocating, even for Reaper. He wanted to avoid this awkwardness that clings to him, the reluctance that surrounds everyone else around him. The mercenary sighs, summons enough energy to rise from his seat. A breath of exertion escapes his lips as he stands and he dusts off the specks of dust that clings to his pants.

He doesn’t miss the slight turn of Soldier’s head as he does so.

“I do this every time I arrive in a new city..” Soldier’s reply is low, the timber of his voice almost sounding like it’s rumbling. Reaper doesn’t react, waits for him to finish. “They always invite me to eat with them, but I refuse. I come out to a place where I can see the sky and…” He trails off and it’s clear he doesn’t want to say any more.

There’s some feeling stuck in his chest, spreading like a fucking virus. A voice clucks in his head, reminiscent of a combination of his mother’s voice and his younger self. _You still love this man and it hurts you so much. Tell him, mijo. Tell him, you weakling._

“You sound like an old man with a midlife crisis in his hands.” Reaper bites the smile that threatens to break out when Soldier faces him with what must be a dour look. “Can’t blame you though. Doing this –“ he starts for the exit with his hands in his pockets “ – is something I like to do as well.”

There’s some form of implicit understanding that passes between them and Reaper feels like he’s starting to get a glimpse of who the man he used to know has become.

“You lock that door on me and I’ll end you.” Soldier threatens from his seat. It seems their moment has ended.

Reaper chuckles, making sure to replace the doorstop. “Wouldn’t want that, _partner_.”

A few hours later find them in the middle of a last minute briefing from Winston on a hologram projection.

“We will all be aiding you from mission control, but please remember that it is pivotal the gauntlet does not fall into the wrong hands.” Winston states matter-of-factly.

The group nods, readying their weapons and breaking off into their pairs. Genji has a hand on the scabbard of his _wakizashi_ and bending his wrists back and forth as though to loosen them as much as possible. Lena’s zipping around with Angela monitoring her through her tablet. Whatever she’s measuring, it seems to be in working order as the doctor gives the pilot a thumbs up. Reaper looks to the exit, watching the way Pharah totes her rocket launcher and bouncing on the heels of her feet. It seems she’s ready to take to the skies as soon as they’re given the clear.

And then his eyes drift to Soldier: 76, who seems the antithesis of this thrumming of energy in the room.

He stands in the back, fingers resting straight against the trigger. _Gun safety_ , his mind trills in a chirpy boy scout voice. His back is rim rod straight as an iron support beam as he watches all this preparation unfold. That stupid mask of his covers whatever expression the man could be making, but Reaper settles for the idea of an old man fumbling for some sort of fond expression and failing to hide it. Unlikely, considering the way his forehead wrinkles, but Reaper doesn’t want to think of just how different the other man could be.

It isn’t long before the teams head to their locations. There’s a _whoosh_ as Pharah takes to the skies with a thin strip of white trailing behind her. Vaguely, the tactical Blackwatch commander shakes his head at the less than stealthy approach of a rocket-toting flying woman and her guardian angel tagging along with her. Is there even a silencer on her jet packs as she flies through the air? He knows for sure there isn’t one for fucking rockets. He doesn’t doubt the aerial advantage, but really. Fucking rockets.

Genji and Tracer are the next to set out, leaping to a nearby rooftop and quickly leaving them behind in flashes of blue and green racing past each other. Now these two, he knows just how well-suited they are for this task. Both are swift, able to react to situations much quicker than anyone in the current roster.

However, Reaper distinctly remembers a competitive streak between the two and the way they worked together. He remembers sitting down with Jack in his office and chiding the two for risking the operation all for a bet of who could take down the most enemies. He doesn’t doubt the combat prowess of the cyborg ninja nor the rapid fire of Tracer’s pistols, but there’s a reason why these two don’t get paired up too often.

Or maybe he’s just getting old. Reaper pulls himself back from that state of mind, knowing that everyone has changed significantly since his time in Overwatch. Maybe Pharah and Angela do have some sort of synergy. Maybe Genji and Tracer won’t jeopardize the mission for some stupid bet.

Maybe him and Soldier won’t wring each other’s necks by the time they finish this mission.

Soldier elbows him, a little rougher than should be expected of comrades, but Reaper grumbles. “Yeah, yeah. Moving out.”

Unlike the other two teams who seem to get along swimmingly, Reaper feels like he could drown with how much tension floats between the two of them. Although he’s used to silence, he’s also not ready for the way Soldier keeps a distance from him and aiming the barrel of his rifle at his back. _Like he’s taking a prisoner to their execution_.

Reaper’s the first to see a blur of black. He comes to a standstill, takes note of the surroundings. Soldier does the same, eyes wandering around for any sign of motion. Soldier calls it in on the mic. “Got movement on our end.”

“Target is in motion.” Genji replies back smoothly. “No sight of enemies.”

“I see some movement on the rooftop.” There’s wind slicing through the speaker as Pharah speaks. “I am engaging.”

“Be careful.” Winston says cautiously in his ear.

There’s a lapse in this tension-laden moment where Reaper finds everything still. In a split second, he feels calm wash over him and it’s unnerving the way it sneaks into his mind. There’s radio silence. Soldier steps beside him, the almost inaudible hum of his rifle the only noise in the alleyway. Somewhere in the distance, the others must be feeling it too. They have to.

Then there’s an explosion to their right in the far distance and everything _snaps_.

“Enemy located!” Genji calls out, the sound of gunshots ringing clear in the background.

“Snipers on the rooftops, loves!” Tracer’s voice echoes in the headset, a warble in conjunction with the firefight. “Count at least two!”

A noncommittal grunt from Pharah as she is moving to engage. “I am taking care of them. Do not worry.”

Reaper thinks that it’s the farthest from taking care of them and inwardly, he thinks it’s rather insane of Winston to advise her to get rid of any rooftop assailants. Then a shot rings out and it’s a hell of a lot more closer than any of the combat. They start sprinting for cover, both dashing to a nearby alleyway, using the shrouds of darkness as cover from the firefight. Reaper sees a glint of metal a little further ahead and pushes Jack aside. He stumbles, catches himself quickly as he turns to glare at the offending man. “What the hell –“

Reaper takes a stance and pulls the trigger, blasts through a Talon agent waiting by the dumpster.

“You can thank me later.” Reaper tugs the man up on his feet and keeps running. However, he’s distracted by the feel of Jack’s wrist in his hand again. His mind rewinds back to –

_“Jack, keep moving!” Gabriel calls out and pulls him down to the ground as another wave of bullets barely misses them. “C’mon, lover boy! Make it out of here alive and I’ll make it worth your while!”_

_“With crazy wild sex?” Jack yells aloud, sounding much more eager than he really should be. Gabriel imagines a mischievous smile pulling at the blonde’s lips._

_Gabriel can feel the same smile curling his lips, though his comes out much more daunting. “Yeah, Jack. I’ll fuck you so hard that you’ll feel like you’re alive for the first time again.”_

_Then, with the abilities granted to him by the enhancements, Jack rises to his feet and gets off five rounds of pulse ammunitions into the bastions chasing them down. He could watch Jack fight all day, the way he manages to wade through the battlefield gracefully._

_“Gabriel!” Jack looks back while he reloads. “No sense in surviving if I can’t share that reward with you.”_

“Reaper!” There’s a shove and Reaper finds himself slamming into the brick wall of the alley with a weight on top of him. There’s a groan rumbling in his chest and he isn’t sure if it’s coming from himself or the man on top of him.

There’s more reinforcements coming their way. Soldier presses against the side of his mask, all aloof calm gone as the adrenaline kicks in. “We got heavy reinforcements on our end!”

“Aight, soldier boy,” an unfamiliar voice echoes in Reaper’s ears. It’s a man, that’s for sure. However, he can’t place the face to the voice in his ears. “It looks like cyborg dude and T-Racer won’t be able to help you out since they’re dealing with their own trouble. Also, our Rocket Angel and Battle Doctor are tied down as well.”

Soldier hums in acknowledgement as he tries to peer around the corner to assess how many people are currently in this cramped alleyway with them. From what little he’s seen, Reaper counts at least a group of seven. “As long as we keep them here, I’m not worried, kid. Just make sure the others survive.”

Amused laughter rings in his ears. “If you say so. This isn’t a war, but I got chu.” And suddenly, in Reaper’s mind, he sees the image of the Brazilian kid that likes skating around everywhere. He assumes that’s the person on the headset, considering there’s not really a lot of men left back at the base. The stupid ingrate doesn’t count; he already knows how that idiot sounds.

Winston interrupts then, followed by the sounds of a keyboard clicking rapidly. “From satellite images, it looks like the concentration of Talon agents are in your area, Soldier: 76. They’re slowly rushing out towards the payload, but,” and there’s a pause where Reaper frowns at the silence and tugs on Soldier’s jacket, “looks like they’re trying to flush you two out before moving on to the payload.”

Soldier doesn’t reply, instead turns to face Reaper and fixes him with what Reaper imagines to be a look of disdain. “What?”

Reaper keeps his voice low, the uneven gravel rumbling and sounding even more inhuman. “Talon agents are trained to flank in the shadows. I haven’t seen them in a while and the most we’ve seen are flashes.”

“Your point?” The soldier is impatient.

It takes a moment for Reaper to not scoff in his face. “They’re trying to push us in a corner. I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed how it’s getting quieter and quieter.”

No reply. The silence is stifling, thick with tension as Soldier looks around and sure enough, even he must notice the way they’re being cornered. He’s mumbling to himself, which thanks to the mask, Reaper can’t fully hear. The three words he does pick up are a bigger surprise than it really should have been, considering the situation they’re in.

“Blackwatch in Talon.”

“What?” Reaper tries to play dumb because he’s pretty fucking sure he didn’t just hear him whisper Blackwatch. Of course, the old man says nothing, keeps trudging along and letting them go further and further into snaking alleyways.

“If letting them follow us means they’re staying away from the payload –” Soldier takes a shot behind him and another one goes down, “– then it’s a risk we have to take. Genji and Tracer seem like they’re doing fine.”

“At the risk of our own personal safety.” Reaper drawls, unimpressed. Fucking hell, of all the things to stay the same, it’s Jack’s stupid save-everyone-he-can mentality at the risk of himself. He shoots as he replies back, only mildly pleased that he hits someone. “You do understand the point of us being here is staying alive long enough to make sure they succeed?”

Whether Soldier pulls a face at that, Reaper can’t tell. The old soldier whirls around to face him and juts the barrel of his rifle in his chest. “Their survival is more important than mine. It’s definitely worth more than yours. I’d rather they be alive with us dead than having their lives in danger because of us.”

The words leave Reaper reeling. Rage flares under his skin, more potent than anything he remembers feeling in the past three years. Is he an idiot? Does he want to die? He says as much to him, jabbing a pointed finger in his chest. “Are you trying to die some fake hero’s death? News flash, _pendajo_ , heroes don’t exist, so stop trying to pretend you are one.”

That shuts Jack’s mouth quickly, though Reaper can’t pinpoint what part of his little speech actually did the job. He mulls over his words, picking out certain phrases that might have triggered his silence.

“You’re Spanish.” Soldier says more as an afterthought than any actual accusation. It’s certainly enough to silence whatever quip Reaper had ready for him.

A bullet manages to snip right past Reaper’s mask and oh right, no time for conversations. “Congratulations for figuring that out. Now please.” He motions towards the trash-laden pathway leading into no doubt a trap. “After you, old man. Pretty sure you’re gonna fucking keel over if I’m not watching.”

He struggles not to laugh at the way Soldier so obviously rolls his eyes at that and tries to keep going. They should probably work together, make a plan to get rid of their followers. His mind is fixated on _killing, reaping, eating_ –

A sharp pain cuts through him and Reaper drops to his knees. He grips his thigh tightly, as though it’ll ward off the pain. Black smoke whiffs through the mask and it obscures his vision, a thin blanket veiling the sheer level of pain that surges through him.

Soldier drops down beside him, hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”

“Isn’t it fucking obvious, _chico_?” Reaper shuts his eyes, focuses on the way his thigh tries to close shut and knit together sinews of torn muscle. A breathy sigh escapes his lips, much more vulnerable than it really should be. “They shot me.”

“I’ve shot you before and you’ve never done this.”

“I also haven’t –“ And Reaper trails off. _Haven’t fed. Haven’t eaten in close to a month. My body is tearing itself apart trying to get the energy to heal this, but it’s most likely caving in on itself and it fucking hurts like a motherfucker._ There is no fucking way he can say that.

“Hey –“ Soldier snaps his fingers in front of his face, his attention flitting back to this moment “ – you still with me? Hey, fucking answer me. We still have –“

A burst of fire. Raining debris. Ears ringing. His body slams against a wall.

It takes a moment to regain himself. He’s physically here in a dank alleyway in Numbani, but his mind reels itself back at the Swiss headquarters and he’s clinging to life. Maybe he’s still there in some sick way, dying mind conjuring up some disgusting hope spot for him.

The sound of rubble clatter around him and it brings Reaper back to awareness, away from that nightmare and back into the reality of the explosion in Numbani. He exhales shakily, hating the way his nerves scream at him. He frantically looks around him, searching for Jack. A thought comes unbidden, mixing in with the murderous ones already in his head.

A lifeless body, blasted to bits and gore splattered all around him. The only recognizable feature is that garish leather jacket, the whole fucking outfit covered in blood.

His senses are alight, craving for that energy he needs to heal and survive. There’s a flickering sensation on the edge of his mind, a few feet away against the wall. _Still alive, still breathing, though barely._

 _Hungry._ Reap. _There’s sustenance right beside you. Do it._

The realization strikes him in the gut as he clutches the gaping wound on his thigh. The cells in his body sear his nerves, tries to close shut the hole in his leg. The pain stretches across his flesh, encompassing his senses as his body slowly knits itself back together. The wound isn’t really the major issue right now though it certainly does nothing to aid his focus.

The usually tame smoke now furls out for Jack’s limp body and pulls him closer to Reaper’s position against the wall. _Reap._ It lingers on the crook of his neck, trailing the vein that pulses his blood and caressing his skin. Reaper groans as the pain overwhelms his thoughts and hovers over Jack with his body. He’s on all fours as he leans in and smells a whiff of forest-scented aftershave. He wants to. He’d take back the part of his life that was stolen from him all those years ago.

It’d be so fucking easy. Just call forth the nano bots in his body, have them gather the energy from his unconscious body. He’d be his in a matter of seconds.

Reaper snarls and tears himself away from his body. He can’t. All this time, he can’t cave. He made a point to return to this idiot team and protect this fool from any danger. He’s not weak little Gabriel Reyes anymore, who let a bomb and internal strife tear them apart. He’s Reaper now. He’s the judge and executioner of those who dared to betray him. He won’t let opportunities like this slip away from him the same way he did when he was human. He tightens his fist, focusing in the way the sharpened digits dig into his palm.

In the midst of his dilemma, the sound of boots against granite pulls Reaper out of his circling thoughts. His mind snaps to awareness. He sees only vibrant red that ripples off of Jack’s soul and the sole intruder’s at the end of the alley. Reaper licks his lips, ravenous at the thought of filling the hunger that seems to expand through his chest.

His senses are heightened by the hunt that he picks up the shaky breaths of the enemy, the soft footfalls that creep in slowly. There’s a crackle of radio and Reaper narrows his eyes.

“Report. Delta squad, where is your location? The payload is moving into position.”

“Th-there’s been an incident. I repeat, so-something’s happened and –“

And Reaper has had enough. He purposefully kicks a bottle as he drifts into a wraith. The man yelps, cuts off his radio contact, and yells out a frightened, “Wh-who’s there?”

The shadows help shroud the both of them from their attacker. The weak little human is whimpering, shooting wildly at rapidly approaching shadows. Reaper counts the bullets – _one, two, threefourfivesix_ – as he slides along the brick wall. When the chamber clicks empty, Reaper rushes in. He doesn’t get the opportunity to scream, for the smoke rushes down his throat. The man seizes, claws at his throat before slowly going limp.

Reaper pulls himself together, a strained effort that requires a high level of concentration. When he solidifies, he extends a hand and feels the remaining life energy being pulled through the corpse. His cells alight as he absorbs the soul into himself. It’s been so long and for a moment, he’s lost in the way his body throbs with energy again. The sluggish movements are gone, his senses heightened again.

He can feel a group of people rushing to this point. Reaper looks back at the slumped man on the wall, still unaware of what’s happening. Though Reaper takes this as a blessing.

After all, he doesn’t need to see this. He readies his shotguns, the weight a comfortable relief as he prepares his assault.

As soon as the group comes to their location, he blankets the whole alleyway in darkness. They don’t get a moment to react when Reaper becomes solid right in the midst of the group and unleashes his Death Blossom. For a moment, time dilates. In that one moment, he relishes the carnage. Blood splatters the walls. Bodies drop to the floor. In that one moment, he truly embraces the persona he’s adopted. Fear incarnate, an unavoidable force of nature ready to take. When time snaps back, he sees that his attack doesn’t kill all of them. There’s only about five able men left, trying to escape, but clutching wounds from the spray of bullets

Good.

His boots thump toward the scared men, decrying him as a monster and to let them go. They reach for their guns, releasing rounds after rounds of ammo at him. Reaper’s form is incorporeal, the bullets whizzing past his form and hitting only air. He can’t keep up this shapeless form, but he doesn’t need to. He lets himself break apart, slip down three men’s throats, and suffocates them. His cells take in their life energy, vibrating with each intake. There’s only two now, frantically radioing for assistance.

In the distance, he hears an explosion and the sound of a roaring dragon. He smirks, knowing full well that Tracer and Genji are riled up now.

And so is he. As soon as his cells absorb the last remaining bits of energy from the corpses, he comes back together into a humanoid form. His body hums with power again, the wound on his thigh not even registering as pain anymore.

“Wh-what is this?” One of the men whimpers aloud. He’s shaking. “I thought…I thought you were with Talon—“

Reaper unloads a barrel of lead into the man’s face.

“O-oh God.” The last remaining man clutches his chest, pulls out a glint of gold around his neck. “Pl-please merciful God.”

Reaper rears the shotgun at the last man alive. “ _Informe a su dios que la muerte_ _le envoi_.”

And then he shoots. Watches the body drop to the floor and the blood dripping down the wall.

Content with the sustenance, Reaper holsters his weapon and heads back to Morrison. He’s still out, though now he’s making more noises and struggling to return to the land of the living. Reaper bends down to pick him up again, notes how easy it is. How perfect he fits in his arms even after all these years. It’s like a fucking fairy tale, with the princess being a stupid old man who just doesn’t know when to quit.

He shadowsteps about a block away from the carnage. Doesn’t want the old man getting the wrong idea here. Though not completely exhausted from the effort, Reaper can feel his body aching from the misting and gently sets the unconscious man leaning against the wall. This time, with no urgency or threat of death, Reaper takes the opportunity to do what he should have done when he first saw this idiot.

A cold metal-tipped finger scratches the visor, stroking what should have been his face. Warm auburn eyes soften as Soldier finally comes to with a deep moan that heats Reaper’s gut.

“What…” Soldier grips his head and groans at the stabbing pain. “What happened?”

Soldier looks around and winces at the movement. The faceless visor hides away his facial expressions, but Reyes has always been able to decipher his body language. He doesn’t miss the way his shoulders tense at the sight around him. He can barely smell the iron tang in the air, but he can’t imagine Soldier’s reaction. Reyes caresses the metal visor once more, relishing the sight of Soldier leaning into the touch. It looks like for a brief moment, he forgets about their circumstances and seeks the comfort. Reyes’ lips curl up slightly, a peace welling inside of him that he thought he’d never feel again.

Then just as quickly as the small moment happens, Soldier pulls away. He jumps to his feet – well, tries to. He tips over, knees buckling and hands reaching for his head again.

Reaper takes a moment to recollect himself because Gabriel was alive again. Gabriel was the one who took Morrison’s face in his hands, the one who killed their attackers to keep them alive.

When he’s sure that his mental state has returned to normal again, he stands and taps the comm on his ear. “Reaper and Soldier ready for extraction. We kept off most of the intruders from our end.” Reaper doesn’t look at the other man, focuses on a wall behind him. “I’ve taken care of them, but Soldier is injured and needs to get some medical attention.”

It takes a silent minute for a reply, but the curt response from Winston sounds surprised. It seems he wasn’t expecting the mercenary to actually talk in such length, especially when he kept to himself. “Uhh, of course. Mercy is heading to your location now.”

He doesn’t bother to respond, knows that they wouldn’t really care beyond the success of their mission.

Instead, his attention drifts to a tug on his waist. His gaze drops down to Soldier’s hand.

“Yes?” Reaper says with annoyance. He doesn’t exactly walk away, but he does try to take back his coat. The grip tightens. “What do you want, old man?”

“Why did you save me?”

Reaper hates the way Morrison makes him vulnerable. It’s a terrible feeling to carry around, he knows. He takes a moment to breathe, contain the strife he’s currently feeling under his skin. Morrison watches him, though the visor makes his expression unreadable. Reaper imagines clear blue eyes crinkling in confusion and lips slightly agape as he waits with baited breath. His imagination tries to turn against him, tries to twist those images into something much less innocent.

_Hot lips pecking at his collarbone, warm breaths fanning against his skin as he leaves marks everywhere he can touch. Eyes closed in pleasure as his hands explore the toned planes of his body and caresses his chest –_

Reaper shrugs, the motion as smooth and practiced as he wants it to look. He doesn’t want Soldier to pick up on the sudden embarrassment that heats his core.

“Because you dying would complicate the mission.” _My mission._

Double meanings. Half-truths always worked out better anyways. If Soldier picks up on it, he doesn’t say. He lets go of his hold and reaches for a canister on his thigh. He throws it down and the warm golden glow envelopes the area around the two. Reaper’s eyes don’t miss the way Soldier’s shoulders slackens just a bit as the healing aura does its work.

He also doesn’t miss the way Soldier relaxes in his presence at all and that relieves Reaper more than it really should.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End me. It feels like every chapter is double the previous one. This was probably the hardest chapter to write just solely because there was a lot to write. Thankfully, the last chapter is pretty much written out. Please let me know if there are any translation errors or just errors in general.
> 
> Informa a su dios que la muerte le envoi: tell your god that death sent you


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting lost in the details.

He sees a white ceiling, both unfamiliar and familiar in the sense that he hasn’t seen this ceiling in years. The sheets under him are warm, soft, a sensation he hasn’t had the luxury of sleeping in in a while. He makes himself comfortable on the pillow and ignores the streams of light from his window. There’s only one thing that’d make this moment perfect.

Just as the thought comes, the door opens. Gabriel rises only to have a weight suddenly jump on him and keep him down by a hand on his chest. The weight sits on his crotch and then the person leans down to his ear.

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

Jack’s smile would be adorable if Gabriel wasn’t distracted by his hands exploring his chest. He grumbles as he tries to pull the sheets up to cover his face. “Too early to deal with this right now.”

And just when the words slip from his mouth, Jack kisses him. It’s soft, a peck on his lips. When he pulls back, Gabriel is ashamed to admit that he tries to follow his retreating mouth.

“You’ve been asleep for far too long. We have a ceremony to go to, don’t you remember?”

Gabriel does not whine like a child, but he grumbles as he tries to push off the weight preventing him from turning onto his side and returning to his slumber. He has about another hour or so before he can get up and leave for some boring little medal ceremony. Sure, he’d like the recognition and the acknowledgement, but it didn’t justify waking up early and getting dressed up for some snobs in suits.

No, Gabriel thinks sullenly. He’d rather stay in bed for just a little longer with maybe a chance of having Jack in his arms to snuggle with.

“Gabe –“Jack places his hands on Gabriel’s cheeks and forces him to look in his eyes “ – I have a surprise for you.”

Time slows for just a second. In that one span of time, Gabriel’s mind spreads like wildfire. He wonders what the surprise would be. Knowing the farm boy, it’s either the worst way to wake up like maybe a rooster hiding somewhere in the room or perhaps he made breakfast or something.

Then Jack rolls his hips downward and _oh_.

Jack lets out a soft laugh, breathy in Gabriel’s ears and full of mirth. “Sure you still want to sleep?”

Gabriel shakes his head, throat dry as he watches Jack above him in his lap. “Jack  –“

He doesn’t finish his words. Gabriel grunts in satisfaction when the bundle of heat slots perfectly against Jack’s. He can’t move, not that he wants to. The sight of seeing Jack’s heated gaze as he grinds down onto his clothed erection is a heavenly sight to behold. He’s panting heavily and now he realizes that he’s wide awake. Jack’s succeeded in that goal at least.

Gabriel wants to reach out, to touch his face and pull him down to kiss those wet lips as they mete out their pleasure together. So he does. Gabriel reaches for Jack and meet those lips of his. The motion of his hips slows a bit in reaction, but Jack is still grinding down. For a moment, Gabriel takes control of the kiss, dominating Jack with all teeth and wandering hands that caress his thighs in anticipation. Jack pulls back an inch from the kiss, moans as he picks up the pace and there’s a moment when the blunt head of his member rocks against Jack’s again and this time, it makes Gabriel see stars.

“A-ah, Gabe,” Jack moans out. It’s throaty, rough as sandpaper as he cants his hips down faster. “I-I need more.”

Gabriel can’t find his voice, but he knows what he needs. He sits up and wounds one of his arms around Jack, keeping him still. There’s shock in the younger man’s eyes, but the look soon dispels into a cracked moan as Gabriel pulls down the hem of his boxers and strokes his length firm and slow. He’s writhing in his arms and Gabriel wants more, wants to hear him cry out and beg for what he wants.

“What do you need?” Gabriel’s voice drops to a low tone, a rumble in his chest as he keeps a slow and steady pace with his hand. Jack tries to thrust, but Gabriel’s body keeps him from moving. Gabriel leans forward and licks the shell of his ear and Jack whines. He repeats himself, a hot breath in his sensitive ear.

Gabriel can hear the hard puffs of air escaping from his lips right in his ear. He’s trying to regain his composure, but Gabriel doesn’t want that. He wants Jack to lose it altogether, to indulge in each other and become one.

“I-I need you.” Jack’s reply is breathless as he tries to keep thrusting in the tight grip. Clouded blue eyes pull back to meet his hazed auburn gaze. “Please, Gabe. I need you with me, in me. I need every single part of you.”

Gabriel lets go of the grip on Jack’s length, instead pulling him back in for a brutal kiss. It’s not the same chaste kiss they shared before. Gabriel bites down on Jack’s lips, relishing the noise. Gabriel’s hands grab at Jack’s ass, lets his hands wander up and down his warm thighs. When Gabriel’s lungs burn from the lack of air, he reluctantly lets go of those plump lips and instead licks the shell of Jack’s reddened-tip ears.

“ _En tu boca. Ahora._ ” Gabriel all but growls out. Jack hums as he trails kisses down from his neck and clavicles to the ridges of muscle on his abdomen and past the trail of coarse hair. It’s sickly sweet, almost loving and Gabriel takes a moment to enjoy the attention. He’s both embarrassed and impatient and it makes Jack chuckle a little bit when he sees the conflict.

But then deft hands pull off Gabriel’s boxers and reveals his stiff penis. All of Gabriel’s senses narrow to the warm breath that fans over the head of his cock, the hand that massages his balls, the other hand that firmly strokes his length. “ _Jack,_ ” he grounds out between clenched teeth. “Don’t tease.”

And then Jack looks up with baby blue eyes as he finally, _finally_ takes his cock in his mouth. The mere sight of those eyes is almost enough for Gabriel to come right there, but then the sensation of a hot, moist mouth over his aching erection whites out any remaining thought in Gabriel’s head. Jack bobs his head up and down, taking him in deep to the point where Gabriel can feel his cock against the back of the younger man’s throat.

Gabriel can’t help himself when he moves his hands to Jack’s head and pushes up and down because he needs more. Jack is compliant, lets him take control as he snakes a free hand down to his pants and stroke himself out in rhythm to Gabriel.

“Fuck, Jack. You’re so fucking good.” Gabriel’s voice cracks at every other word, every time he can feel his cock all the way down his throat. “I should make you swallow my come and then fuck you so hard you can’t walk down that stage without that ass of yours aching for more.”

Jack moans in response and the vibrations makes Gabriel jerk, thighs dangerously around Jack’s head and tensing. “Such a naughty little boy scout, but don’t worry. I’ll reward that.”

Gabriel then takes Jack’s head and all but drives his cock down his throat to the point where the blonde’s nose is flush against his belly. Gabriel’s hips jerk at the first orgasm that rips through him, each pulse a new wave of ecstasy that tears through him. He glances down to look at Jack staring right back at him and god, Gabriel can go again and again if Jack gave him that doe-eyed look with his mouth around his cock and the thin line of white dribbling down his chin.

He reaches for the drawer, ready to take out the lube when Jack’s hand stops him. Gabriel meets Jack’s eyes and god, those brilliant blue eyes of his are clouded in the most amazing way. Then he swallows, cheeks hollowing out and Gabriel can do nothing but throw his head back and silently scream. His hand comes back to stroke Jack’s hair and he wants to close his eyes, to let himself drown in the warm and wet sensation. Jack’s tongue undulates just on the underside of his length where the vein is and Gabriel growls.

“ _Jack_ —“ Gabriel reaches out to tug on Jack’s hair and pushes his head down, relishing the vibrating moan. In the back of Gabriel’s military-orientated mind, he knows that the meeting is coming up soon and that they need to make this quick. However, he’s also content with Jack between his thighs, bobbing his head up and down with glazed eyes burning into him. Now though, Gabriel want to reward his Jack for letting him come first.

With that in mind, Gabriel pulls him off and up to crash his lips onto the other man. He can taste himself, but he doesn’t care. Not when Jack is returning the kiss with the same fervor and nibbling on his lower lip. Gabriel moans as he scrambles and reaches in the bedside drawer for that bottle of lubrication. Jack notices the motion, eyes flicking over to his wandering hand.

Gabriel pushes Jack down onto the bed, a reversal of their starting position. He squeezes a generous amount, coating his own throbbing erection with _onetwothree_ strokes and hissing at the friction of his own hand. Even though he can still feel the ebbings of his orgasm, Gabriel has one more left in him. Jack’s watching him intently, ocean blue eyes flickering back and forth between Gabriel’s face and his erect member.

When Gabriel finishes applying the lubrication, he leans down, breathes into the shell of Jack’s ear. “Turn around and put your ass in the air so I can give you what you need, cariño.”

The younger man complies, flips around on the bed. He’s rubbing himself down against the bed, pants leaving his swollen lips. Gabriel reaches out for his sun-kissed hair, yanks and Jack cries out in surprise.

“Keep doing that and I’ll be forced to leave you here as punishment.” Gabriel lets go, watches the way Jack whimpers as he lifts his hips up and presses back against the solid form of his lover behind him.

Without warning, Gabriel pushes a finger into his ass and his cock twitches and hardens at the cracked mewl that escapes Jack. Jack whines impatiently as he rolls his hips onto the probing fingers. Gabriel pulls out slightly, inserts a second finger and Jack’s breath hitches. Jack turns his head to the right, eyes looking back as best as he can in his position. It takes a moment for him to regain his composure, to formulate the words he wants to say. Gabriel slows his pace as he lets Jack have his time.

When he speaks, the words come out much more solid and real than when they started. “I need you _now_.”

Who is he to decline such a command? “Yes sir.”

He curls his fingers once – loving the way Jack’s whole body draws taut and tightens on the intruding digits – before he withdraws. Jack is breathless, panting and heaving and pushing back his ass for more contact. Gabriel lines up the head of his member against Jack’s entrance and without a word, pushes in slowly.

Jack is needy and desperate, whimpering and thrashing under him for more contact. Gabriel melds their bodies together, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist and muttering in Spanish the words that he’s too prideful and embarrassed to say.

 _“Quiero pasar mi vida contigo_ _. Quiero besarte siempre. Quiero hacerte el amor_ _. Quiero estar contigo para siempre.”_ Gabriel finds himself slowing down with his words. He’s holding onto the man in his arms, kissing the nape of his neck and trailing up to his ears. 

Jack seems to understand that there’s a change in pace here. Maybe it's Gabriel's soft tone that gives it away. Jack's chest heaves as he struggles to find enough of himself to speak. “Don’t ever leave me, Gabe. I love you. I love you so much.”

And Gabriel finds it within himself to take his lips, this time softly. He slips his tongue into Jack’s inviting mouth and it’s so sickeningly slow and loving. Even though Gabriel hates slow, he needs Jack to know how much he cherishes this, know how much of himself he’d give Jack if he so much as asked. Even despite how wound up Jack was earlier, he has some semblance of patience.

Gabriel pulls out of him for just a moment, loving the quiet exhale at the emptiness he must be feeling. The older man guides him onto his back and takes Jack’s lolling head in his hands to kiss him deep and slow. Jack exhales, a soft sigh and a rumble in his chest as he reciprocates back.

Slowly, Gabriel hooks his hand on Jack’s leg, spreading him apart and taking his place. Jack’s staring back at him, eyes unfocused and breathing heavily as Gabriel readjusts himself, keeps eye contact as he eases himself back in. He makes sure he sheaths himself all the way in, squeezing Jack’s inner thigh. The sheer intensity of being inside Jack is almost enough for Gabriel to come again. Instead, he focuses on the way Jack squirms under him, the way he pants and shivers and grasps at the sheets. His eyes are closed shut and he’s writhing and trying not to focus on the biting pain from adjusting to such a large intrusion.

“Gabe –“

It takes a moment for Gabriel to understand what is happening.

Fucking Jack. Making love to Jack. Eventually, the younger man finds enough of himself to push back onto Gabriel. He opens his eyes, meets hazed blue orbs and reads Jack’s lips more than actually hear it. “Fuck me.”

That’s enough for Gabriel as he pulls back and snaps right back into him. A cracked sob escapes Jack’s lips and then another and another as Gabriel pulls out right at the tip and slides right back in. His thrusts are heavy, making sure to hit that sweet spot that makes Jack scream. He’s clawing at his back, pushing himself up with the heels of his feet. The motion only lets Gabriel in deeper and Jack knows this. His hips jerk up as Gabriel pounds into him and passes his prostate and hits deeper.

He’s holding onto Gabriel’s shoulders and panting, eyes close shut and mouth wide open. One of Gabriel’s hands pinch at a nipple while his mouth returns to that smooth neck of his and kiss every expanse of skin he can. He tells himself that this is all for his own pleasure, that he’s only doing this for the way Jack tightens around his cock. However, there’s an emotion that flares in his chest when Jack breathlessly mumbles, “I love you. I love you so much. Gabe, fuck, fuck you’re so big –“

They can’t keep this up for long. Jack is too far gone and Gabriel is right there with him on the precipice of sweet release. He picks up his pace just a bit, slamming into Jack. Gabriel palms one of Jack’s perked nipple, squeezes and Jack screams.

“A-ah, I-I’m almost –“

Gabriel’s other hand finds Jack’s cock and gives one, two strokes before he finally comes. Ropes of white splatter out onto his belly and he’s spasming, back arching off the bed like a drawn bowstring. His ass clenches down onto Gabriel’s and he spends himself as well, biting down on Jack’s neck to stifle the noises he makes.

A satisfaction wells in his mind as everything settles. Gabriel rolls off of him and takes deep breaths to calm himself down from that blissful high when Jack finally comes to. His crystal blue eyes are still unfocused as he meets Gabriel’s gaze and speaks with startling clarity.

“It’s time to wake up.”

Gabriel’s body suddenly feels lighter, burns more than anything. “W-what?”

The bedroom is burning now, fires licking at his rotting skin as rubble comes crumbling down from the ceiling. Gabriel’s heart stops as he leaps forward to save Jack and god, no no no—

Reaper jolts awake.

He breathes and for a moment, he’s expecting ash and smoke to burn in his lungs. His usually slow-beating heart beats just a little faster. Whether it’s from shock or pleasure, he can’t say. He grounds himself by making a fist in his right hand, pinpricks of pain in his palm from the clawed gloves he’s still wearing.   

He hasn’t dreamed in years. He hasn’t visited that memory for an even longer period of time. He’s still, unable to collect himself from what has just happened. The dream felt so real, as though he were actually in bed with Jack on top of him.

Fucking hell, that was the morning that they had the commendation ceremony. He’d almost forgotten about that lazy morning spent in each other’s embrace. Even though they’d explored each other’s body before, that moment is something that Gabriel Reyes could never forget. Reaper recoils at the dredged up memory and the promises he whispered into Jack’s ears.

God, when did everything change?

Well, Reaper supposes he could pinpoint the exact moment everything splintered. That’s his vice though, isn’t it? So scarily efficient in everything he does, he doesn’t let himself forget a single slight against him. It’d served him well so far, ticking off names in a list composed of traitors and _cabrons_ who thought it’d be wise to destroy his life and make him a vengeful wraith.

Still, Jack wasn’t a part of his initial goal. Never was, though he has the dubious honor of igniting the first spark of suspicion in the organization and its members. Of course, hindsight is a powerful tool in the right moment. Reaper lets his head recline on the leather cushion of a pillow as his thoughts escape him. He won’t be the first to admit it, but the hate that surged through him when he witnessed the UN council reward him with the title of strike commander was a tidal wave so strong, he thought he’d drown.

Then came the designation of Blackwatch, the new recruits that were considered indispensable. The clandestine missions that sullied his hands while Jack got to share that precious smile of his with the world and keep a reputation of peace. _Mine, all of that was to be mine_. Reaper knows he’s possessive to a dangerous degree, but even he isn’t sure if he’s hung up over the situation or the fact that Jack gave that pearly-white smile to anyone and only gave Reyes hardened looks of disappointment and scowls.

Fuck. He can’t do this. He knows he’s losing the hold on the compartmentalization of his humanity, but fuck if that dream didn’t just blow all that apart. _Like a bomb_ , his traitorous mind whispers darkly.

He blearily rubs away the sleep from his eyes, finding the task cumbersome. He doesn’t need to sleep as long as he used to anymore. He used to lounge in bed on his days off, enjoying the way Jack would snuggle with him or attempt to wake him up with a cute pout. Desperate to take his mind off of the thoughts swirling in his head, he taps a button on the sleeping pod to have the door hiss open.

These things were always uncomfortable back then and they still are. Thankfully, the others are either asleep as well or running around doing some bullshit tasks to keep themselves busy. Silently, he wonders what he can do now that he can’t go back to that dream of his.

He soon finds himself in the cockpit, where Lena sits speaking animatedly with that Brazilian kid on holo-vid. There’s some music playing and a niggling sense of _old_ kicks in his head because dear god, is that what music consists of nowadays?

He only barely considers reining in the disdain heavy on his tongue. “When are we arriving?”

Lena jumps in her seat and whips around to face him with an exaggerated surprised expression. From here, he can see the little man frown and glare at him.

“Going at the rate we are, in a couple ‘a hours.” She tries to sound calm, an effect lost by the wild surprise still dancing in her too-wide eyes. “Had to take some detours to lose any potential followers.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to him.” Lucio has a set frown on his face as he crosses his arms. Unlike the woman here, he actually looks pretty collected. It helps that they’re thousands of miles apart and on a video call.

Instead of replying back, Reaper turns back the way he came, ignoring the calls telling him to come back. Now that he doesn’t have a guard watching his every single move, Reaper is free to explore the depths of his tattered memories. Heavy footsteps follow wherever his mind remembers something: the lounge where they celebrated raucously after destroying an omnium facility and where Jack brushed lips with his own. He passes the kitchen where Amari would make her red lentil soup and the savory scent would waft in the air long after she’d served it. It wasn’t like his mother’s _pozole_ , but he remembered the taste just as well. In a way, he could almost smell it again, almost see the sniper hovering over a pot and adding in spices and stirring the broth.

He soon finds himself in front of a door, its decals long faded with time. He stays there, staring at the place where his mind expects a sign to read: _Captain’s cabin_. Somewhere in some lost part of his past, there’s Jack waiting for him behind the door, on the bed reading some book that Reinhardt recommended or spread out asleep after a long mission. Sentiment fogs his rationale and before he can rein in the impulse, Reaper goes forward and opens the door.

Plumes of dust rise from the rush of air and it’s much more telling than any words could ever be. The room is in the same state as his old safe house in Dorado, though there are no pests. The bed is stripped down to the frame, the mattress bare and dirty from the lack of inhabitants. There are no personal effects that remain from that time, though neither of them have ever been sentimental people. There’s a part of him that expects his ghost to appear again, right behind him.

“Too late to regret things, huh?” Reaper says aloud to the lingering image of an idealistic farm boy in his head. Perhaps it’s the dream from earlier that’s made him wistful. “I wanted to set things right. I wanted to be strike commander. I knew that we were compromised.”

The words do nothing to alleviate the hollow feeling in his chest, but he keeps going. He stands over the foot of the bed and eyes the falling specks of dust.

“You left me behind. You wanted to pretend like everything was fine when it wasn’t. I wanted to make sure everything was right. You wanted to keep a pretty reputation.” He bows his head, chin to chest as he speaks his next thoughts. “ _Que me dejó morir. Te amaba, pero no creo que me amabas la misma_ _._ ”

The words are sobering, effectively shattering the last remaining wall between himself and the humanity he wishes had died in that building. If Gabriel Reyes wasn’t alive before, he was definitely alive now from the way his empty chest ached. Reaper knows that there was no turning back the moment he decided to return, but the finality of what exactly he returned to strikes him over the head.

He sighs, relenting to the swell of pain in his chest. If Gabriel wanted to return, then so be it. He knows himself, knows how stubborn and determined he is.

“What did you just say?” A voice calls from behind him and it catches him off guard. He rears around to see dazzling blue eyes and it almost nearly kills him all over again. “Gabriel –“

“Don’t use my name.” He growls out of reflex. When the shock wears away, he realizes it’s Ziegler that’s standing in front of him. For a moment, he expected Jack to show up and the pang that hits his chest is nothing short of upsetting. “What do you want?”

She pouts at him and furrows her brow. “We need a debriefing now over what happened during the mission.”

A low displeased sound rumbles in his chest, a warning for her. “We ran across a squad of Talon agents, a bomb went off, and then I dispatched them all myself. End of discussion.” He leaves out the grisly fact that he’d also devoured their life energy for himself, but she didn’t need to know that.

His body still feels slightly more unstable than normal and that says something. However, the hunger in his bones is quelled for now. He inhaled, what? At least six souls? It certainly isn’t enough to last him another month, but he knows that for now, while he’s playing in the good graces of this stupid organization, he’ll survive until they send him out on another mission.

…if they send him out on another one. That thought doesn’t escape him.

“Move aside, Ziegler.”

She stands straighter. “Not until you tell me what happened.”

Reaper scoffs, has half a mind to push her aside and keep going. He tries, brushes shoulders with her as he takes a step past her.

An arm blocks his way. He doesn’t move, instead preferring to glare at the offending limb. “We already briefed Soldier: 76 about what happened, but we need you to fill in the blanks.”

“Why the fuck does it matter?”

“Because they think that you might have had contact with Talon while 76 was unconscious or even help with the bomb that went off.” And her voice cracks, a little of her fear revealing itself. “I’ve tried convincing them that you only did what you were supposed to do, but they won’t have it. They want to—“

“Interrogate me? Do they want to sit me down in a little chair and threaten to kill me?” Reaper sneers at the thought. No doubt Jesse will be involved. He’s the only one of them with the _cojones_ and the skill to try. “And what do I tell them if they don’t believe me?”

She watches him for a moment, eyes filled with so many emotions: fear, sadness, shock. When she does speak, the tone of her voice matches the amalgamation of all those conflicting feelings. “I think they just want clarification on what happened. Soldier: 76 had no injuries inflicted by you, I attested to that. However, they’ve kept me in the dark regarding how they plan to do this.”

Reaper scowls behind the mask, not the least bit enthused about this. “I give them the information and the means to complete this. I made sure the old man made it out of there. But sure, fine. We’ll fixate on the literal ten minutes of silence in my activities.”

“Just be careful.” Angela turns to leave the room. Her voice is soft, more fragile than he’s heard in a long time.

When he returns to the watchpoint, Jesse is the first to meet him. With the others, there’s a sly smile and a, “we should all get together, play some cards or something to celebrate” before his eyes finally land on Reaper.

There is no warm greeting for him. An expressionless face with glints of his calculating mind meets the bone white mask and it’s a reminder that this stupid idiot cowboy used to be one of his top agents in Blackwatch. That, behind the joking demeanor and the western idiocy of clothes is a hardened man who could kill multiple targets in one swoop if he so wished.

“Yer comin’ with me.” Jesse’s words leave no room for argument.

In a way, he’s proud of the ingrate. He’s not afraid of crossing lines with someone that could put a bullet to that pretty face of his. Still, it takes every ounce of control Reaper has to not do just that to the man in front of him.

Angela walks up next to Jesse with a grimace. “Please forgive me, but I do insist on heeding his request.”

Reaper can see the implication under her words, so thinly veiled. _Don’t shoot him. Your trigger finger is too obvious. He means well._

He says nothing, starts walking and the cowboy leads. As the three walk into the compound, Reaper instantly recognizes the route they’re taking. After all, it’s an intimately familiar one: one he used to tread every week with someone in custody or waiting for him at the destination.

They soon arrive in front of a nondescript steel door. Jesse taps a card on the device on the wall and it beeps a light chime as the door opens. A table is in the middle, with two chairs on opposite ends. The doctor is the first to enter, taking to standing behind the chair facing the door as Jesse takes the seat. Reaper follows, though begrudgingly because his mind fixates on the fact that this whole thing is fucking stupid.

Jesse reclines in the chair, easy and relaxed with a stern expression on his face. “I dunno what happened on that mission, but you ‘nd me are gonna talk about it.”

Angela hovers behind him, lips drawn in a tight line. She doesn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes is sharp and silently reprimanding. _Don’t ruin this_.

There’s a clank on the table and Reaper looks down to see a holographic map projecting a line around tight alleyways. Reaper immediately recognizes it to be the path they took in Numbani that night.

“We lost contact after there was an explosion.” Angela explains as she circles the area where the trail stops. Jesse scowls, but says nothing. “The tracking device in your clothing must have been damaged in some form because even now, there isn’t a signal registering.”

“And how is that my problem?” Reaper replies back with a disinterested tone. He resists the urge to lean back into the chair, instead pressing a sharpened digit at the last marker of his tracked whereabouts. “Old man could tell you everything that happened and probably has. Overrun by two squads and a bomb set to go off probably to eliminate witnesses and obstacles. End of story.”

“So,” Jesse taps the table once as he leans forward, “why is it that Lena picked y’all up two blocks away from the explosion? Seems mighty convenient to me, is all.”

Reaper can’t believe this. Sure, he’s not warranted much trust since his resurrection into the persona he’s adopted, but as Gabriel would say, “Are you fucking kidding me.” His voice is deadpan and sardonic as he speaks. “If you paid attention to any news outlets, I’m pretty fucking sure you’ll see news about what I did.”

Now it’s Jesse’s turn to look bewildered, though he does his best to control that. “What d’ya mean?”

To her credit, Angela starts tapping away on her tablet and doesn’t say anything for several minutes. It’s enough time to give Reaper a time to talk.

“You know how people know I was in town?” Smoke oozes from his form and it’s now that Reaper realizes he’s lost shape again. He’s pretty sure it’s only his legs that are gone, but he can’t say for sure. All he knows is that Jesse’s confusion is breaking through that controlled face of his. “I leave husks in my wake. Every single person I’ve killed, they don’t have bodies to bury. The corpses are decrepit, turn to ash if something tries to move them. So tell me, _niño_ , would you like to see that firsthand?”

He’s definitely sure he’s lost his legs now because when he rises from his seat, there is no strain of muscle in response. Smoke billows out and although he knows Jesse McCree personally, it doesn’t stop Reaper from leaning over the table and hovering his mask right in front of the cowboy. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch away.

“He’s right.” Angela interrupts the moment, brings both their attention to her. She walks over to them and drops the tablet down for Jesse to read. “This was just written this morning, about four hours ago.”

_Twelve bodies found dead in alleyway: related to gang war or something worse?_

“The title is misleading, but if you read it –“ Angela flicks down to the text and highlights a paragraph somewhere in the middle – “it describes some of the bodies being riddled with shotgun pellets and others in a particularly advanced state of decay.”

Silence. There’s only the sound of breathing from two of the occupants in the room. Reaper focuses on containing himself and reforming his body. He only has enough attention to feel one leg again when Jesse speaks.

“I’d be inclined to believe ya, considering reporters write up the craziest stories for click bait, but it don’t explain the bomb.”

Angela’s hand stills and she glances up to the owl mask with an expression that spells out her fear. She’s done a lot for him, hasn’t she? Placed so much trust in a monster of her own making, just so she could redeem him and herself.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Reaper expels a breath of black in annoyance, “but if I’d set a bomb up, which I didn’t do thanks to the two men on the team that wouldn’t even let me breath without a warning, I wouldn’t place it about five feet from me. I certainly wouldn’t have let the old man survive.”

Jesse shuts his eyes and grips the cigarillo in his hands just a bit tighter. Enough for a bit of the grains of tobacco to drift down.

“There’s no way he could have made any move on his own before then either.” Angela’s tone is controlled, a sign she’s regained her composure and confidence about this whole situation. “Genji and I kept a close eye on him and the only time he left our supervision, Soldier: 76 was with him the whole time. The tracker worked up until the explosion, but there’s no way he could have planned that so far ahead of time.”

Silence cuts in then as her words sink in. Reaper still can’t believe just how much of a waste of time this all was, but he knows that he’s done talking. No need to, when the truth is laid out there for everyone to see and hear. He’s pretty sure that AI is recording everything for Winston to analyze and that monkey is outside watching.

“Alright, doc.” Jesse raises his hands in surrender, a weak smile on his lips as he jests. “Dunno what you see in him, but I did my job here.

“I’ll forward this to Winston.” Angela types something up on her datapad as she speaks. “And Jesse? You’re going to have to walk him back to his room. Winston’s orders.”

“Don’t bother, kid.” A fourth voice speaks and all three occupants turn to the door in varying degrees of surprise. Reaper is only vaguely shocked that the reason for this whole discourse is standing at the door, crossing his arms and leaning his weight onto the frame. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Jesse’s eyes flit between Soldier and Reaper for a few seconds before he smirks suddenly. “Do what ya want. Ain’t my responsibility anymore.”

 _Puto niño_ , Reaper thinks with spite as Jesse practically dashes out of the room, probably to smoke. Still the same even after all these years. He knows his habits too well; after an interrogation, Jesse likes to breathe in that tobacco. _Clears the mind and washes the taste from my mouth,_ he always used to say.

“I must be on my way as well.” Angela’s heels click past Soldier with tablet in hand. “I have reports to fill out, but I’ll come by to speak with you later.” It’s clear from her tone that she’s talking to Gabriel again, but Reaper doesn’t answer back. Soon, she leaves just as quickly as Jesse.

And then there are two.

Not for the first time, Reaper wonders just how Soldier could hide himself when he tries to look for a sign of the other man, but then he comes rear his stupid face when it’s not wanted. It’s an innate skill that perhaps only Jack Morrison will ever have the pleasure of having. Reaper’s shoulders sag slightly, imperceptible from the heavy armor that still clings to him, as he walks out the room.

“I never got to thank you.” Jack starts off first as he walks beside him and oh, so we’re going there already. “For Numbani.”

Reaper scoffs, dismissing the clear sentiment in those words. “Don’t thank me. No need.”

“Knowing you, you normally would have left me to die.”

Reaper chews over those words. Sure, as Reaper, the reputation of a merciless killer precedes him. He doesn’t exactly disagree with the statement, for he knows it is true. However, something in him bristles at that. He can’t push away the thought of slick blood on his hands, the guilt that climbs into his chest and lances through him when he imagines Jack bleeding out in his arms.

The silence seems to be getting to the soldier, as he pushes himself off from his resting position to stride over to Reaper. “As unexpected as this is going to sound, I owe you one.”

_“Everything I did for you and you just throw it all away for some petty title.” Jack spits in his face and slams his hands down on the desk. Gabriel only glares harder because god, how could he not see it? “I don’t know what you want from me anymore, Reyes.”_

_Reyes. Not Gabe. Not Gabriel. When did it all change? The rage spreads through him, taking hold as he yells right back, “you doing something for me? You owe me your fucking life for leading your ungrateful gringo ass to safety during every single operation through the Omnic Crisis.”_

_Glints of hardened sapphire orbs glare at him. “Get out. Now.”_

“No.” Reaper dismisses the strange feeling lodged in his chest as a taxing result of using his powers to intimidate instead of acknowledging it as something more. “You don’t owe me. Don’t want some _viejo_ to break his back trying to repay some stupid debt.”

At that, Soldier’s forehead crinkles in obvious confusion. However, the exasperation is clear in his tone. “I’m not that old, for starters. Also, vee-ho?”

Amusement prickles right under his skin in no way related to the usual throbbing of pain. Reaper swears he could choke on the sudden peal of laughter from his attempt at Spanish. Even through all the terrible and shitty days, one thing that he could always count on making him laugh was Jack and his absolutely terrible Spanish.

“Don’t laugh at me.” The soldier says indignantly and Reaper can imagine the scowl so vividly in his head, it’s frightening. “I’m not…I haven’t spoken Spanish in a long time.”

And that catches Reaper’s attention. “So how in the world did some old man make it to Dorado and survive long enough to face Los Muertos?”

“I almost didn’t, thanks to a certain asshole that tried to kill me.”

Well. Didn’t have to go there so quickly, Reaper thinks. Still, humor pulls his lips into a smirk as he replies. “Maybe someone should have just went to the goal instead of eliminating everyone there.”

That earns him what Reaper imagines to be a pointed expression and scathing scowl when Soldier turns to face him. “Maybe someone shouldn’t have chased after me when it was so obviously a trap.”

Reaper chuckles more to himself than anything. He misses this type of banter, as strange as it sounds. Anyone else, he would have silenced them or killed them. He doesn’t really have it in him to talk any more than necessary, never really did. But Jack knew how to draw it out of him, even if he doesn’t know it now.

“What’s so funny?”

“ _Mierda_ , we’re fighting like a married couple. All passive aggressive and shit.” Reaper tries not to notice the way Soldier stiffens at that remark. Whether it’s from awkwardness and embarrassment or shame and regret, he can’t say for sure. “Something wrong?”

“Does anyone else here put up with this from you?” Soldier’s tone is questioning, almost disbelieving that he’s witnessing this conservation for himself. “Does Angela have to deal with this?”

 _Angela._ There’s a note of emotion attached to the name and briefly, it makes Reaper wonder if Jack regards Gabriel in the same degree, the same fondness and care for her name. The mere thought is a surprising one, especially the bubble in his stomach that he wants to equate to hunger.

Then he remembers who he’s supposed to be right now. The words come out of his mouth before he can quash the instinct. “No.” The word comes out like a soft breath, accentuated by the rumbling of his voice. “There's only one other person who did, but I don't think they feel the same way."

Soldier’s hairline wrinkles trifold, which really does accentuate the exaggerated expression Reaper’s imagining in his head. If he weren’t beating himself up over what he’s just said, he’d snark to the old man or at the very least, chuckle at his expense. Alas, Reaper can only scowl and try his best to still any physical reaction that would give away the shame burning in his body.

 _It’s all blowing up in your face,_ his mind taunts. And he doesn’t miss the barbed reference.

Again, Reaper is not surprised when Soldier does not let the topic drop. Though now, his tone holds a subdued curiosity. “Is that person dead?” His voice trails off at the last word, uncertainty lingering in the one syllable.

_You fucking idiot. Just figure it out already. I’m sure as shit not telling you because I don’t want you to try and kill me._

He rounds a corner, a faint reminder that he’s supposed to be heading back to his room until this whole mess sorts itself out. He feels more like a child heading to time out again, like a recruit that’s scared of messing this whole thing up. It’s off-putting, Reaper thinks. He was the head of Blackwatch, the leader in his strike team during the whole Omnic Crisis.

“No.” Reaper says in more of an annoyed huff. This conversation is more draining on his emotions than any one he’s talked to in the past month. He’s never talked to a lot of people, preferring only the company of a select few, but when one of those special people in his life is being a dense fool?

He needs to be by himself.

Before long, Reaper realizes that he’s arrived in front of his current room. He shifts his weight to his left, crosses his arms as he realizes Soldier is still standing there beside him, watching him.

“Leave me alone.” Reaper growls as he swipes his clawed hand over the touch pad. The door hisses open. “You did your job. Don’t act like you wanted anything else to do with me.”

He tries to ignore the way Jack’s shoulders tense rigid. Reaper wishes the doors had hinges instead of the automatic electronic stuff. That way, he could be the dramatic asshole he wants to be and slam the door shut in his face. He has to settle for the door sliding shut, dividing them even though he’s pretty sure Soldier could just enter in here if he wanted to.

His ears pick up footsteps that hesitate right outside his door, but after about four seconds, echoes down the hall and finally away from his room.

When he’s absolutely sure Jack turns the corner, Reaper snarls and finally lets his frustrations out. He doesn’t have his guns, which is honestly a good thing. He makes a mess of his room, clawing at his bed and tearing the sheets with his hands. He flips the table over, breaks the computer with a resounding crack. He goes out of his way to break the glasses sitting on his nightstand, relishing the _clinks_ and the shattering that follows when it hits the ground.

He growls and hunches over as he holds his face in his hands and screams. For a moment, he forgets that he’s supposed to be nice and quiet because _fuck_. A whole month of this...this quiet bullshit grates on his nerves. And then Jack’s stupid naïve idiot self doesn’t realize Gabriel’s still alive. He doesn’t know what hurts more.

It seems an eternity when Reaper runs out of things to break, but the truth is that there’s only so many things he’s even allowed to have with him. When Reaper glances over to the electronic clock hanging on the wall to his right, it’s really only been five minutes since Jack’s left.

The mention of Jack stirs another bout of dull anger in his head. Though now that the majority of his pent up aggression has been released, Reaper mulls over the conundrum that constantly taunts him every time he thinks about Jack.

Tell him…or not?

He’d tried to kill him on more than one occasion. Dorado was the closest he’d been to actually succeeding and if it wasn’t for Soldier: 76’s identity, he’d be six feet in the ground. However, he’s also saved his life in Numbani. A life for a life, a favor for another. The rationalization makes sense in his head.

Though, why is he doing this? He could just end the confusion and reveal himself to the one person he has left in this world, show him the truth and tell him about what happened and what he’s learned. Like how Overwatch was destined to be dismantled from the inside with snakes slithering its way into the hierarchy of the organization. Like how people like Luke Gutierrez was bought with money and promises as long as –

Gutierrez. Right. That needs to be dealt with.

The reminder of the man is enough to spur Reaper back into action. He’s not going to sit around and wait for his next orders. He’s always been like this, unable to stay in one place when there’s something bigger out there that needs to be done. He has to do research. He doesn’t have Sombra helping him right now, though he’s sure that she would help him even now.

However, he’s also sure that she's aware of his involvement against Talon and he doesn’t really want to pick up with that particular loose end just yet. He’ll do this on his own for now. He’ll do the research on his computer, look up information about any news articles relating to Gutierrez and see –

Wait.

With a resounding sense of embarrassment that eats away at him, he eyes the computer – or really what’s left of it – on the floor.

Oh wonderful. Scratch that. The first thing he’d need to do is commandeer someone’s computer. Off the top of his head, there’s only two people that appear in his head. Jack wouldn’t even consider it, especially after what just transpired between them. That really only leaves one option and Reaper breathes out through his nose as he realizes for the first time since he’s been here, he’d have to go seek out Ziegler himself.

She’ll tease him about this, he knows. He’s asking to use her computer and again, the metaphor of a child comes up in his head. With a resounding sigh, he looks at the door and frowns behind his mask.

This is going to be an absolute headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many comments! Thank you for everyone that left a comment after the last chapter! 
> 
> So uhh, I have no excuse for the massive delay in this chapter. It's between the three rewrites to make this work for the next couple of chapters (because surprise, there's actually more than four chapters written?) and the fact that SMT IV: Apocalypse came out this week and I've been playing that for the past...five days? Please take the smut as an apology. OTL
> 
> Translations  
> en tu boca ahora: in your mouth now  
> quiero pasar mi vida contigo: I want to spend the rest of my life with you  
> quiero besarte siempre: i want to kiss you forever  
> quiero hacerte el amor: I want to make love to you  
> quiero estar contigo para siempre: i want to be with you forever  
> Que me dejo morir. te amaba, pero no creo que me amabas la misma: you left me to die. I loved you, but i don't think you loved me the same.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions and reactions.

He wants to die.

Standing outside of Ziegler’s medical bay and glaring at her name is only delaying his time of research. He needs to step on it quickly if he wants to get this done. It’d be easy. Just go in, “politely” ask to use her computer, come up with some ridiculous excuse about his not working (even though it’s not a complete lie), and research the list of names in his head.

Easy, right?

The fact that his legs refuse to move says otherwise. He curses himself out, tries to pep himself up the way he used to when he was scared about taking Jack out to dinner. Just do it. It’s easy. Words aren’t his strong point, but he has to if he wants to make Jack happy.

Only, instead of a date night with Jack, it’s searching up a hit list and writing down the names of the people who betrayed the both of them. He also doesn’t know if Jack would even be enthused by the idea. The romantic in him is just swooning over this perfect plan he’s concocted.

Nonetheless, Reaper knows that he has to make a move. He can’t be standing in front of her door waiting there like a menace. He’s already on thin ice as it is and although he normally doesn’t give a shit, he doesn’t want to waste away the effort he’s already put into this place.

He glares for just a second longer before raising a closed hand to knock on the door.

Silence. No answer. For a moment, he has half a mind to either mist through the seams of the door or just ramming the thing down. He gives himself about ten seconds before he goes through with the idea.

He’s at nine when the door opens to reveal a very jostled Ziegler. Her usually maintained hair is out of its ponytail. Her clothes look like they’ve been haphazardly put on in a rush. She’s also breathing harder, almost heaving for air. Behind his mask, he raises a brow at her appearance. Out of the corner of his eye, there’s movement in the windows. Too quick for him to notice, but suddenly, he feels on edge like he shouldn’t have come here.

“It’s nice to see you.” She says in a surprisingly steady tone. She presses down her hair and airs her shirt. “I..uhhh, I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”

Reaper opens his mouth, but then shuts it. He already feels like a prickly mess with his own problems. Whatever she does is her own business.

“Could you just…wait outside for a minute?” Ziegler asks shyly, her nervousness showing. “I need to go do something.”

 _Like putting on your underwear?_ He keeps that thought to himself and turns his back to the door while crossing his arms. She mutters a thank you before closing the door. He closes his eyes, gathers his thoughts. He’s already having enough trouble to collect himself enough to ask about her computer. He does not need to complicate things any further with some remark that might cost him. Not now. Maybe later when he doesn’t need something from her.

The door opens again, a cool breeze against his neck. “You can come in now.”

He strides in, arms still crossed as his eyes roam around the room. It’s still disgustingly clean, as though nothing happened. The only sign of anything that happened is a fallen stack of papers scattered around her desk.

When it becomes apparent that no, he’s not going to talk first, Ziegler has this brief look in her eyes and a slight grin that pulls at her lips. She looks…amused, for lack of a better word. “How can I help you?”

 “I need to use your computer.” No use in beating around the bush. “Mine broke.”

That look in her eyes brightens even more and he does not need this right now. Not when he has a mission to complete.

She seems to pick up on the urgency, for she guides him to her work station (which is cluttered with folders and papers and has she not understand that she’s living in an era of technology? This whole disarray of papers could literally be organized on her tablet or something.) She enters in her log in information, swift and practiced before standing aside for him. “So I’m not going to say no to you asking for something, but I also have to keep watch over you while you’re doing whatever you need to do.”

Reaper sits down in front of her computer, noting the secure connection and the personnel files she has on her desktop. Just the mere fact she trusts him like this is startling in and of itself. He has to put aside that feeling though as he types in the names rattled off by the rat in different tabs. Five web pages open and load different news articles, with only a few of them anything worth reading into.

_Prime Minister Alexei Ivanov’s response to recent Omnic uprising_

_Mishima Head Leader facing charges of arrest after recent breach in Tokyo Metropolitan Building security_

_UN Leader Eirene Kattan’s story on Overwatch and its tactics: was it worth disbanding?_

_Arnor Steinsson’s recent breakthrough on tissue regeneration and cloning_

_Ethelinda Sauer’s life in ensuring world equality: how we remember her 13 years of service to the world after her death_

Well, the last one seems irrelevant, considering she’s passed away now. He skims through the article, really more of a fluff piece written by some reporter who points out the woman’s involvement in the peace era after the Omnic Crisis and the eventual dismantling of Overwatch after the scandal.

He wonders if she was in on the whole thing though with Talon, making sure to cast them aside after they had used up all the resources they had to offer. Reaper considers it a blessing for her, since her dying meant that she wouldn’t suffer under his hands. He clicks his tongue, then moves on to the next batch of articles.

The bulk of it is standard for UN officials and recent world events, with interviews and introspective pieces of whether Overwatch should be reformed to combat the growing crisis overseas. Reaper wonders how genuine those responses are, watching the video of the prime minister’s controlled response. He sees the dismay in his eyes, the rigid stance in his shoulders. The Blackwatch commander in him knows this man is telling the truth regarding how he needs to contain the situation swiftly, but he doesn’t know the reason why. He was involved in the whole dissolution of Overwatch, was he not?

Maybe he’s like Gutierrez, a man with something to lose and they named that as the price of obedience.

He scoffs and exits the page, keeping a mental reminder to himself that he needs to go there eventually to exterminate him.

The next person is uneventful as well, what with the majority of the news based on the scandal surrounding a supposed security breach. The name doesn’t strike him as familiar either and that’s a surprise, considering his team was the one who worked on the Shimada-gumi case. Mishima…maybe it’s the family that took the place of the criminal empire, capitalizing on the open market. Maybe if he were still around, there wouldn’t be a repeat of this. They’d have stemmed this problem before it grew this far.

But alas, the most Reaper can do is stare at an article and watch the video clip silently reel through stock images of the head leader and the Tokyo Metropolitan Building.

He does keep a mental note in his head to himself to read up on the man before moving on to a boring little scientific journal about Arnor Steinsson’s recent discovery. His eyes skim over the text, the majority of medical jargon going far over his head. However, there’s a few sentences that stick out to him.

_By isolating certain genetic material, inserting said genetic material into mitochondria ribosomes, and enhancing mitochondria activity, it is feasible to speed up cellular healing. Although it is only in a theoretical stage, it is possible to induce a temporary state of rapid healing and prevent cellular degradation._

It sounds too eerily familiar to his condition and that thought alone is what marks this man as his next target.

“Steinsson?” Ziegler says in a questioning tone. He stifles the reaction to jerk as best as he can to focus on her words. “Why are you looking him up?”

“None of your business.” His hands drift over the screen to cover up the text.

Angela gives him a pointed look with amusement dancing in her irises. “I could just go through the search history, Gabriel.” She ignores his remark of not using his name and keeps speaking. “You know, he recently contacted me about my Caduceus research. Wanted to work together on this new project he was starting.”

So if this scientist works for Talon…that did not bode well for anyone. Reaper clicks on the article detailing his methods, but stares only at the face of the man, tries to remember every single detail like the crow’s feet edging on his eyes and the light green color and the blonde-white hair and that superficial smile of his that looks so fake.

He knows something. He has to. Gutierrez wouldn’t have mentioned this if it wasn’t a significant detail. Still, he knows that he has to let Ziegler know of some part of what he’s thinking. He rises from the computer chair, silently giving her back her seat and she takes it.

“I’ll need another favor.” He starts, keeping his gaze on the window behind her. “Long story short, I need to ask that man questions. Questions regarding personal interests that I have been very keen to obtain. I won’t take no for an answer because either way, I’m going to leave this place.”

She gasps and he can see from his peripheral vision how her brows rise in shock. “Wait, but…why him? And you know that’s a heavy demand that I can’t guarantee. They are barely accepting of you right now. It took me a lot of time to convince everyone on the strike team to even consider the possibility of you working with us.”

He breathes, a black mist emanating through the empty slots of his mask. “It doesn’t have to be the same team again. I won’t let this opportunity slip away, not when I can still do something about it.”

And then there’s this strange light that passes in her eyes, like she’s finally found the piece she needed to complete the puzzle before her. “You think…he’s related to what happened to Overwatch?”

He narrows his eyes at her, but says nothing. It’s enough of a confirmation for her as she collapses in her chair and reclines her head back on the headrest. A silence falls between them, heavy and tense.

When she speaks, it’s obvious she’s trying to dispel the terse atmosphere as best as she can.

“I’ll do what I can. It’s apparent I can’t tell them everything, not without revealing who you are, but I’ll make the best case I can. However, you have to do me one small favor.”

Reaper hums, waiting for her to continue.

Angela reaches for her tablet and opens a blank email and starts typing. “Today’s my turn to water the garden on the rooftops, but I have to catch up on the paperwork left over from before the mission.”

“No.”

She huffs as she spins back around to meet his gaze, eyes crinkled in what has to be annoyance. “Please. I don’t ask you for anything –“

“You really shouldn’t be asking me for favors, Ziegler.”

“But I really think,” she continues as though she wasn’t interrupted. “I really think that you should help me with this. In exchange for letting you use my computer and what I’m about to do.”

His mind rapidly goes through choice swear words in both languages. However, behind the somewhat spiteful thoughts is a lingering sense of unsettlement. There’s a question posed on the tip of his tongue, cutting through all his composure.

“Why do you trust me so much?” He doesn’t want to stumble over his words, doesn’t want her to see just how much it’s taking out of him to even pose the question. “Why do you believe in me so much? To let me walk around here? To vouch for me? Even let me use your personal computer?”

She stares at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. It seems she wasn’t expecting this line of question, so he continues.

“You’ve heard the stories. You’ve heard about what I’ve done. How can you even condone my existence despite that?”

He keeps his gaze down, doesn’t want to see her face anymore. Doesn’t want to see those blue eyes of hers melting in emotions when she does inevitably answer. He’s an idiot for asking. Gabriel’s a weak man, filled with regrets and emotions and this thought that he needs to know why Angela has done so much for him when he’s done so little for her because he’s an inhuman abomination and a corpse of a man who should have died and stayed gone.

“When the news claimed that you had a hand in the Geneva headquarters, I admit that I was distraught.” She clasps her hands together in her lap. “I had a hand in saving you and the thought that I had aided in your survival over trying to find Jack…I was not able to work for a week.”

He narrows his eyes at her. What the fuck does that mean? It’s quite apparent what she’s saying, but he’s fixated on her admitting her regret in saving him. He can’t contain the loathing that etches into his words. “I thought you said you believed in me.”

“I do.” Ziegler says confidently, so sure of herself that his doubts dissipate. “There was a lot going on back then, with Ana’s death and then yours and Jack’s in such quick succession. I…I wasn’t sure of anything back then beyond what I had a direct hand in.”

“Like my resurrection.”

She nods. “I was the only one who kept searching long after everyone had given up. And then when I found you, I already told you about the desperate measures I took to ensure your survival. However,” she trails off. A look passes through her eyes, like a reluctance in admitting what she has to say next.

When she speaks again, it’s quieter, subdued. “The wounds on your body were mainly on your arms and legs with an impact around your back, so it’s safe to assume that you were defending yourself. However, your muscles had also locked in when I found you. As though as you were holding someone.”

The way she speaks of his death is unsettling, to say the least. Reaper looks up just to see her with this strangled expression flitting across her eyes and suddenly, he feels exposed.

She sits up straighter. “You were defending someone. Shielding someone from the blast.” He doesn’t answer.

“That’s how I believed you. You were always a man of action, Gabriel. You would only do that if there was someone you were trying to protect with your life.”

The name goes unsaid, but Reaper still hears it nonetheless. It rings in his ears.

_“Jack, you fucking idiot!” Gabriel holds his body close, wraps his hands around his neck to pull him to his face. “How could you not see this coming? How could you be so blind?”_

_He doesn’t answer. His breathing is steady, but slow. There’s blood matting his blonde hair, streaking down his face. Gabriel is familiar enough with scars to recognize the gash cutting across his face, probably from shrapnel or rubble or something._

_“Jack, wake up.” Gabriel’s shaking him awake, but his arms aren’t cooperating. It’s heavy like lead in his veins. Still, he tries. “Despertarse. No puedo perder. Ahora no_ _.”_

_His own breathing is getting heavier, like he can’t get enough air. There isn’t enough fire in the room to obstruct his breathing. It’s then that he notices the dull throbbing in his side. It takes actual effort to look beneath him and –_

_“No.”_

“Gabriel!” A woman’s voice. Hands on his shoulders. Eyes the color of the sea. “You’re not back there again! Stop!”

There’s a haze in his head, a disconnection between the rampaging memories of his death and the clinically sterile office. The air in his lungs is lodged in his trachea, trapped in his throat. He can’t breathe, but at the same time, he can’t get enough. His arms are crossed over his chest, a tight grip on his elbows and _ah_ , he’s held on so tight, he can feel the scratches on his forearms.

He shuts his eyes, focuses on something that makes him feel normal. The pain in his joints and limbs as it constantly cycles through varying stages of decay. The stifling smell of some cleaning disinfectant in this office. The light that beams against his eyelids.

_Jack’s sitting down beside him, watching the world above him. It’s a still moment, frozen with no movement, but Reaper doesn’t care. He looks at the expanse of his neck, stretched to look up. He can imagine a fond expression behind the red visor, baby blue eyes distilled in emotions of awe and love and this calm that always washes over him when he sees the stars._

Of course. For the first time since he’s come back, Jack’s unrelenting presence in his life helps soothe the waves of discomfort in himself. He can feel himself again, his body slowly reacting and coming to. There’s sounds playing in his ears and when he focuses on it, he realizes that Angela is still talking, still rambling.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Angela repeats in a mantra, running her hand through her hair. He can see tears in her eyes, threatening to fall. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I should have just said something else. I didn’t mean to –“

He manages to let go, raises a hand to silence her because _not now_. She stops talking, stills her hands, and breathes. He shuts his eyes, those images playing in his mind like a movie reel in fast-forward. The argument, the explosion, the aftermath, the sheer pain, and repeat.

“You’ve done more than enough, Angela.” There is no inflection of emotion in Reaper’s voice as he speaks. From the way his vision blurs over, his body has definitely started to dissipate again. Only this time, instead of just his legs, he can barely feel his body. He sees his hand more than feels it, sees the rising of decaying skin hovering between himself and the doctor. He turns around to the door. “I’ll let you know about what I want to do.”

He moves for the door, his heart aching in the worst way possible. The door slides open when Angela speaks again, a mumble that he only hears because of how deathly silent the room is.

“I wouldn’t have changed anything, Gabriel.” She says as he tries to pass the threshold of the door. “I would do it all over again if it meant that someone survived out of that catastrophe.

He doesn’t say anything back.

It takes him the better part of a week to consolidate and come to terms with what he remembers. A week of staying put in his room, not bothering to come out for anyone. No one stops by to check on him, neither Angela or Jack. The only time she contacts him is on the new computer in his room with a message titled, “don’t forget about the roses”.

That was yesterday when she sent that. He imagines that there are better things to be worrying about than over some plants, but there’s a phrase stuck in his head.

_“You can’t let life pass you by like this, Gabriel!” Jack calls out from the distance. The waters ebb along the shore, enticing and relaxing all at once. If anything, Gabriel would prefer lazing around beside Jack and taking comfort in the fact that they have a whole week to themselves._

_“Gabe, come on!” However, it seems he has other plans._

_Gabriel pushes himself up on his elbows, looking for him. It’s late, the moon half-full and the stars not nearly as bright. But Jack…he lights the world all on his own. His shimmering hair reflecting the light and appearing almost translucent. His smile as the waves splashes against his back is nothing short of breath taking._

_“Once in a lifetime, you know!” He bellows out just as another wave comes crashing down on him, this time hitting him directly in the face. The light laughter soothes Gabriel in ways he never realized existed before._

Reaper sighs.

Although he fusses over the request, Reaper does eventually find his way to the rooftops. Surprisingly, he wasn’t stopped in the halls or anything like that. The most he receives is the odd glance from the younger recruits and muttering. The weather is balmy, yet cool with the sound of waves crashing against the cliff side. It’s late, almost evening and it shows. The sun filters across the horizon, its light streaking vibrantly and highlighting the large mass of clouds in the distance.

He’s pretty certain it isn’t going to rain, but the sight still gives him a strange sense of dread. It’s stupid, the way he hesitates just because of some clouds in the sky. Dimly, he wonders if he can get away with not watering the plants.

 _You’ve already made it this far. And besides, don’t you have better things to do instead of moping around?_ Gabriel’s voice taunts him in his head. Reaper says nothing as he goes over to the bushels of plants.

There’s mostly flowers, though there is a cordoned off section filled with vegetables and fruits. A sign is nailed into the wooden fence in a different language he’s not completely familiar with. In his mind though, he doesn’t question it. Less work for him, right?

He strides over to where he’s seen Angela fill the watering pot, picks it up with just a little effort since it’s still full of water. He pours a generous amount over each plot of flowers, unsure of just how much he needs. He spends about ten seconds on each little plant, ranging from sunset-colored marigolds and pink petunias to yellow poppies and white spider flowers with dashes of color. He only really focuses on a particular set of flowers though. Vibrant red catches his eyes. Roses.

Reaper bends down to the bush’s level, balancing himself on the soles of his feet. He thumbs a drooping rose, a talon following the curve of each petal. The water beads on its petals and leaves, looking more lively than ever. They won’t miss this, Reaper thinks as he grips the base of the stem. It isn’t like they’re counting every single flower and doing research on it. He reassures himself as he snaps the rose out of the soil and places it in the holsters where his shotguns would go in his coat.

There’s a hot rush of heat on the back of his neck. His mother is in his head again, a firm and soft voice that makes his heart hurt. _“Mijo, you have to cherish this man while you still can. Show him. You already lost him once and I won’t let my baby get hurt again.”_

Reaper stands from his resting position, keen on avoiding this feeling that’s trailing behind his every action. He empties the watering pot and throws the excess water over the edge of the railing, taking some amusement in the thought of someone suddenly getting splashed with water. Although the thought doesn’t completely get rid of the emotions in his chest, it makes moving around easier to deal with.

He breathes through his nose, knowing that there’s really only a few things that could set his mind at ease when it’s gone through so much so quickly. One of those options isn’t readily available, not when he slinks away to some unbidden corner of this place and hides his pretty little face from him. The second option seems his only way to let himself calm down.

His feet take him to the training room out of muscle memory. There’s noises coming from inside, grunts and pants and a particularly familiar growl that makes Reaper’s eyes widen slightly. Because of fucking course, _he’s_ here. The same wavelength, a synergy that Reaper has never found in anyone else.

With only a smidge of hesitation, Reaper palms the panel beside the door and watches it slide open to reveal a very rugged Soldier: 76 in nothing but a black t-shirt that sticks to his body and some training pants that hug his defined legs.

For a hardened veteran, Jack is still the same dense of piece of shit he remembers from years ago. Reaper takes small comfort in this knowledge, letting himself eye the man before him just a little bit more. Reaper has half a mind to just meld to the old man’s form permanently at this rate. He’s pretty sure no one else has picked up on his identity (and he is grateful that Ziegler hasn’t blabbed yet).

Despite the difference between then and now, Soldier still tries his damnedest to keep his body physically in shape. Before, Gabriel used to join him in his efforts, cockily challenging the younger man into fistfights and being pleased that it’d always work into spending time with the man afterwards.

“What the hell do you want?” Soldier barks out as he circles a dangling punching bag. He still has that stupid visor on his face and Reaper wants to reach out and smash it to bits again. “Although I can’t see you without this mask, no one else has seen you in a week. What are you doing here?”

His mind halts as he processes what exactly he just said and meant to say.

“Can’t see?” Cogs whir in Reaper’s mind before finally coming to a conclusion that sinks in his stomach like a stone in a deep lake. “Are you…blind?” He says in more of a daze than anything.

Soldier snarls as he throws another succession of blows into the worn punching bag and Reaper is unsure if he’s just getting into routine or if he’s angry at the topic. After a few moments of silence, Reaper just shakes off the strange feeling in his stomach and settles for watching the younger man train.

So…Jack was blind. That isn’t necessarily the worst thing to be afflicted with after an explosion, Reaper thinks sullenly. However, the loss of his sight leaves Reaper reeling with unwanted emotions. He’d wanted to believe that Morrison had left him behind, that the man came out of that explosion intact and perfect, just like the way he usually handles himself.

Then Soldier stops swinging, steps aside to walk over to Reaper. Later on in the privacy of his own room, Reaper will look back and admire the sight before him right now. A light sheen of sweat glistening on Morrison’s form. He admires the toned definition of a man who has fought his entire adult life and lived his life on the run. His figure is still slim though, with defined muscles on his exposed arms and legs. He isn’t necessarily bulky, just well built. His body is just as much a honed weapon as his pulse rifle. Jack hits the middle point just between too lanky and too brawny. The litany of scars only highlights his ruggedness, though the one close by his upper chest leaves a slight pang. The perfect build of a super soldier with enhancements thrumming through his body. Reaper’s eyes trail down, admires the sight of an exposed abdomen and a trim waist and a trail of coarse blonde hair leading down –

That, he’ll put aside to catalogue for later.

Now though, he simply glowers and raises his head to sneer at the man. Has to keep up an image, right? “What do you want?”

Soldier huffs, more out of physical exertion than actual annoyance though. (And it bothers Reaper that he can decipher that so easily even though they’ve only talked a handful of times, known each other with only animosity the link between the two. However, Reyes always knows. That sniveling part of his humanity always understood Morrison in a way that he would never find elsewhere.)

“Let’s fight.”

Reaper just gives him a flat look, doesn’t say a word as he lets the sentence sink in. When he does come to the slow realization that yes, this man just challenged him to a fight, Reaper barks a laugh. Again, some things don’t change. “Sorry, but I don’t like beating up old men, especially if they can’t see.”

“You scared of getting beat by an old man?” Soldier challenges and oh, Reaper’s ever present pride flares at the sentence.

“Shut it, Ja – “ Reaper bites his tongue at the last minute, eyes wide as he realizes how easily the name almost slips through his filter. However, he knows he needs to finish that sentence – “just know there’s more ass kicking I could give you like in Dorado.”

The cover is good enough for him. He’s definitely sure that Soldier is aware of the slip up, but now they’re both too riled up. Just as Reaper’s hubris burns to prove himself, Soldier 76’s stubbornness does not yield to a presented challenge.

Soldier glides back to the sparring mat and Reaper follows. The wraith is thankful that the other man doesn’t ask him to take off the armor or clothes. Not that he would heed the request anyways, considering the amount of effort he’s put into keeping his identity under wraps. They reach the circle in the center of the mat and stand across from each other. They’re both still wearing their masks, but Reaper imagines the cockiest shit-eating grin unfurling across Soldier’s face and it only makes him smile the same way.

Soldier is the first to throw the punch.

Although Reaper knows that the boy scout doesn’t exactly play by the rules anymore, even he is taken off guard at the impact that grazes his cheek. He raises his forearms in defense and Soldier doesn’t stop. He’s still winded from his warm up, but the punches still carry weight in them.

“Been wanting to punch your stupid face in since we fought at Dorado,” Soldier says as he jabs for an exposed side. Reaper oomphs at the impact. “I’ll take beating you up as an extra bonus.”

“Since when did a vigilante start letting his ego get to him?” Reaper swiftly dodges a fist meant for his face. He tsks and steps back to put some space between them. “You really did just try to aim for my face.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Soldier slyly remarks and bounces back into the open space. He throws another heavy punch for Reaper’s side. Privy to that particular attack, Reaper evades to the left and counters with a quick jab. It catches Soldier off guard and he stutters over himself.

An opening and Reaper takes advantage of it. He goes in, not leaving him any time to react to his punches. In hindsight, he should have at least taken off his clawed gloves. The metal on his knuckles directly hits the visor and the _crack_ cuts through all sound.

Reaper feels a creeping sense of guilt as he watches the visor splinter and fall into pieces again. Only this time, instead of seeing a withered old man close to his deathbed, Reaper meets the unfocused blue irises of a very much alive Jack Morrison.

Jack turns on his heels and hides his face with his hands. “Don’t look at me!”

“¿ _Por qué_ _?”_ Reaper watches the younger man try his hardest to cover his face, as though he’s able to obscure what he’s already seen. He tells him as much. “I’ve already seen your face twice now, old man.”

Jack swivels with wide eyes at the words. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Reaper chuckles, a deep rumble that shakes his shoulders. “Dorado. When we fought? I had you. You were unconscious and I could have ended you then and there.”

For once, Jack does not say anything. No comment or side remark. Reaper finally has Jack’s undivided attention as he hangs onto every word. Deep azure orbs hold Reaper still, making it so much more difficult to tell the lie that sits on the tip of his tongue.

“One civilian saved you though,” he continues. “A bleeding heart who thought he could save you with what little life he had left. Managed to keep me at bay long enough to stop me from killing you.”

At that, Jack’s brow raises. The lie is terrible, too painfully obvious even for the former leader of Blackwatch. Of course, the person he’s referring to isn’t supposed to be alive, much less feeling sentimental for the man in front of him. Gabriel yearns for any connection to his past and that pull managed to keep his killing instinct on hold. The best lies often have the truth woven into it to make it more convincing, but god. A civilian intervening?

“So would that explain why I woke up in a bedroom?” Jack raises his gaze to meet the mask’s empty sockets where Reaper’s eyes would be. “Is that why I had my jacket over my face and a metal talon embedded into my arm?”

Oh. So that’s where the damned thing went.

Fuck.

“Uhh,” Reaper stutters. He fucking _stutters_. Unbefitting of a soul-eating mercenary. He knows that his human tics are coming back in full force, the way his cheeks and neck are warm again. The mask helps cover his reactions though. It’s then that he notices how Jack sighs in exhaustion and wipes away the sheen of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand.

Silently, Reaper walks away from the sparring mat, secretly enjoying the way Jack trails behind him like a shadow. Then he remembers that Soldier also wants answers for their encounter in Dorado and it sobers Reaper up, makes him a prickly mess again. He guides them to a bench and Jack practically collapses on the wooden seat. Eager to avoid any mention of Dorado, Reaper eyes the bottle of water in between them.

 _It’ll shut him up,_ he thinks.

Reaper reaches for the bottle sitting on the bench and taps Jack’s shoulders with it. The mercenary is eternally grateful for a mask that covers the fond expression that crosses his face as Jack casts a glance in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

He places the drink right next to Jack’s knee and then shrugs. “You looked like you needed a drink.”

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but lets out a small sound that’s a mixture between uncertainty and laughter. Whatever he wants to say, Reaper is sure it would have only made the weakness in his chest grow its roots further. Instead, Reaper breathes out black fumes as the ache grows again and Jack takes the bottle.

He greedily chugs the bottle, the water dribbling down his neck. A neck that is throbbing with life. Its pulse is a siren song, mesmerizing and the slow rhythm pulling Reaper closer to his baser instincts. It’s an indulgence at this point of his life, second nature to the body he possesses now. Kill, reap, eat.

He could eat his soul right now if he wanted to. Tear it asunder and pull it apart with his bare hands. Jack would put up a fight and something in Reaper throbs at the thought. He’d always hated Soldier: 76 since he reared his ugly face around and intervening in Talon missions. The thrum he feels though is not the same as when he reaps though. No, when he imagines Jack under his control, squirming _under_ him…

A tap on his arm jolts Reaper out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts. His head follows the touch to see the bottle being handed in his direction.

“Sure I’m not the only one who got tuckered out from that fight.” Baby blue eyes hold him still. Jack still has that stupid frown on his face though and Reaper wants to wipe that expression off his face. Would punching his face in do the trick? Would kissing his chapped lips work?

Reaper takes the offer, holds onto the bottle. The way his body works, it hasn’t needed water to function in a long time now. Even to this day, he’s not even sure how his body will react to anything other than life essence. What remains of his stomach lurches at any solid substance he eats, but this is a liquid. Surely, it should go down easier than any food, right?

_Would I still be able to take him in my mouth?_

A breath fans over the open slots on his mask, again breaking him out of his trance. Jack’s leaned in, eyes squinting as though he could see something. “You okay in there?”

Reaper releases a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding in. Bright blue eyes manage to watch the wafting smoke leave through the slots of his mask. Reaper lingers for a moment, figuring what lie to feed him this time. _Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to figure out what’s the best way to take you here and now? How to make you mine again? Do I eat your soul or kiss your lips? Do I rip your heart out of your chest or stroke your cock in my hand?_

“No,” he darkly mutters instead. “I’m not.”

Jack has a peculiar expression on his face, mouth in an ‘o’ and eyes widened slightly. Clearly wasn’t expecting that then. His confusion dips into his words as he asks, “was it something I said?”

Reaper shakes his head. The words don’t come to him now because he’s so fucking pinned down by those vivid eyes. God, this whole humanity thing is killing him. Reaper thought he buried the man he used to be in a pile of burning rubble. Yet, here he is again, an old man pining for a piece of his past and trying to rekindle something that shouldn’t fucking exist.

Jack doesn’t even know what’s happening and that’s what burns Reaper the most inside. While Reaper sits here in turmoil over a supposed dead man and the purgatory he feels like he’s in, Jack gets to judge him. He was always the lucky one, whether it was professionally and climbing up the chain of command or personally as he befriended everyone with that dazzling smile of his. Gabriel remembers watching how the same people that gravitated to the golden boy would give Gabriel a wide berth of space.

…he’s really getting old if he’s letting thirty plus years of memories haunt him again. Gabriel feels his lips pull into a frown, but his hazy vision tells him his body has dissipated again.

“Look,” Morrison speaks again. “I just want to know why you like being around me so much.”

Later, he’ll blame Angela for even showing him the stupid garden she’s been watering. It’s her fault that he’s been taking care of the roses when she doesn’t have the time for it.  He plucks a rose from one of his pockets. Gabriel isn’t sentimental. He shouldn’t be. Slowly, he gives the flower to him.

“I guess,” Gabriel side eyes Jack through the haze of his deteriorating body as he passes over the rose, “I just have a soft spot for blue eyes.”

Gabriel wants to bash his fucking skull in as soon as he can. It would hurt a lot less than the heartache filling his rotted chest as he watches Jack’s expression morph into one sentimental look and he smiles. Gabriel hisses and turns away from the _chico de oro_ because shadows burn in the presence of such a brilliant light.

He needs to focus though. Stop letting his thoughts run rampant. Strong emotions run the chance of losing control over the corporeal form of his body. He knows that from personal experiences.

He wouldn’t mind losing control if it was for Jack. Even now, after all these years, only Jack knows how to tear him apart at the seams even though he doesn’t know it. All the carefully constructed walls he’s built up, both from before and after Gabriel’s death, seem to crumble down at the mere thought of the other man. He’s sure the other man doesn’t give two shits about him and would rather put a bullet in the back of his skull, only huffing when he realizes that it wouldn’t put him down.

Although faint, Jack’s smile is blinding and for the briefest of moments, Reaper lets himself feel again. For one still second, Gabriel is alive again and he’s sitting next to his beloved sharing another stolen moment and breathing in each other’s presence again. The sun is setting behind them as the two overlook the ocean at Gilbraltar. Gabriel turns to meet Jack’s gaze, lifts a finger under his chin, tilts his face up and leans in to –

“I’m…sorry,” Jack doesn’t exactly push him away and his smile is still soft, but the apology immediately sobers Gabriel back to reality. “I can’t…I don’t even know what you look like. And I haven’t forgotten that you tried to kill me over a dozen times.”

Jack places a warm hand on his shoulder. “I really don’t like the fact that you keep clinging to me like I need to be watched.” He starts with an indignant tone. Jack grips the cloth under his hand tightly. “But if Angela trusts you enough to convince this team to let in even someone like you, I guess I should trust her.”

He doesn’t need the pity. The softness in his chest burns and his pride flares out before he can catch it. “I don’t need your fucking approval to do what I want.”

“So doing what you want means sticking close by me and keeping me safe?”

Gabriel bites his tongue, not wanting to lie to this man any more than he already has. He hums an acknowledgement, not entirely disagreeing with his statement.

Jack thumbs the leaf on the rose wistfully. “Well, thank you for the flower. Didn’t really think a dangerous mercenary like you would carry around flowers in their breast pocket.”

“Even death is sentimental,” Gabriel mutters.

Jack laughs, a deep and satisfied rumble that has Gabriel storing the sound in his mind. He’s so fucked, isn’t he? Drowning in memories and making new ones of the same man he once thought was dead.

“You remind me of someone,” Jack says quietly. Gabriel is ashamed to admit just how raptly he’s listening to the other man’s words now, but he is and he sits just a little straighter. “Was always dramatic and a bit of a stubborn asshole, but—“ and Jack looks up to meet the bone white mask with a solid undecipherable stare of emotions – “he always had my back. He was always there for me, even in the worst of times.”

Gabriel doesn’t say anything. All thoughts dissipate from his mind the same way his body starts ghosting away from the lack of control. Fuck, Jack. _Fuck Jack_ , a whisper corrects him. Even after the explosion, Jack still honors his dead best friend. He still remembers him fondly. Gabriel melts in the feeling that blooms in his chest. 

After all these years, Jack Morrison still cares about him. Maybe even…

Jack stands up suddenly, the back of his neck a blush of pink as he starts picking up his things. “The point is that I appreciate your efforts into keeping me safe.”

Gabriel stays rooted in place, distantly notes Jack putting a towel over his face and mutter to himself about having to get his spare from his room and leaves the training room.

Hazed auburn eyes watch the rose bob its petals back and forth in Jack’s hands.

“Wait,” Gabriel rises from his seat and watches the way Jack stiffens. “There’s something I need to say.”

Jack doesn’t turn around, doesn’t say a thing as he lets Gabriel speak. In another lifetime, wouldn’t this situation be reversed? With Gabriel the silent one that lets Jack talk his mouth off? With Gabriel standing there aloof as Jack tries to reach out for him?

“There’s some information I have regarding the fall of the original Overwatch,” Gabriel blurts out. He doesn’t miss the way Jack’s shoulders rise at the words. Gabriel’s unsure if he should continue treading this line of conversation, but he’s been meaning to act on the intel he’d gathered from that idiot he killed. Gutierrez, his mind supplies him. “I was wondering if you wanted in.”

A pause. A moment where Gabriel’s dead heart beats an unsteady rhythm as he stands there, watching the other man before him consider his options. If he could just see Jack’s face…

“In on what exactly?” Jack’s words are quiet, uncertainty trailing at the end of his sentence.

“Helping me go through on my promise of keeping this Overwatch alive.” He grins under the bone white mask, feeling like he’s caught a wild animal in his snare. “Help me take down the ones who initiated the fall of the original Overwatch.”

Jack swivels on his heel, faces him with wide-eyed surprise. It’s funny, for being a blind man, he knows just when to turn and look because those murky blue eyes meet Gabriel’s instantly. Jack’s hands are tight, the muscles tense and ready to strike again. For a moment, Gabriel wonders if he’s going to be punched again.

Jack straightens, trying to hide the obvious surprise from his body language, but he’s dour as he speaks, almost unbelieving. “Why me? Why not tell Angela?”

Gabriel crosses the wide gap between them in two strides, looking down at him with something akin to joy that he’s even considering the idea. “You have a personal investment in this. And besides,” he pats the other man’s shoulders, “I figure why not. We work well together.” _Almost too well._

Jack stands there, eyes him and again, Gabriel feels naked under that gaze. Ah. Not the right phrase to be using at the moment, for now there’s an unbidden thought of a naked Jack above him and taking control. Gabriel inhales, tries to clear his head. When Gabriel refocuses, he notices how Jack is…

Smiling. He’s actually smiling.

And just like that, it’s the first time he’s seen Jack again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sweats- I uhh...I got nothing. Next chapter will be even funner, so stay tuned.
> 
> That last bit with the rose was inspired by [ non-fatmilk's beautiful artwork ](http://non-fatmilk.tumblr.com/post/147885564353/reaper-tries-to-woo-jack-but-the-old-guy-has-no) (and was actually the crux of this whole fic being born. Go figure.)
> 
> And thanks for the comments! I never have the time to answer each one individually, but just reading them gives me this big smile and the motivation to keep writing. :)
> 
> Translations  
> despertarse. no puedo perder. ahora no: wake up. i can't lose you. not now.  
> chico de oro: golden boy


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